


If God is For Us

by SaintHeretical



Series: If God is For Us Verse [1]
Category: The Borgias
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 93,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintHeretical/pseuds/SaintHeretical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s just in the bath when she hears the news, her body covered in pink, caramel scented bubbles, her hair piled atop her head like an ice cream cone. There’s a shout from her brother Juan, and then everyone is gasping, yelling, and shrieking outside of the steamy walls of her bathroom.<br/>Her mother cracks open the door, her face displaying a myriad of emotions.<br/>“Lucrezia, it’s happened. He’s died. The Reverend has died.”</p>
<p>Modern-AU<br/>(The Borgias as modern Evangelical Protestants)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She’s just in the bath when she hears the news, her body covered in pink, caramel scented bubbles, her hair piled atop her head like an ice cream cone. There’s a shout from her brother Juan, and then everyone is gasping, yelling, and shrieking outside of the steamy walls of her bathroom.

Her mother cracks open the door, her face displaying a myriad of emotions.

“Lucrezia, it’s happened. He’s died. The Reverend has died.”

Lucrezia’s head goes blank because they had talked about this, planned and schemed for months, starting when the Reverend’s health had progressively declined until he had fallen into a coma a week ago.

“What...do I...do I...shall I get out of the bath then, mother? Does Father need me?”

Vanozza chuckles lightly. “Take your time, sweetheart. We don’t need to start anything just yet. Your father is going to headquarters right away, and he’ll call if he needs anything.”

Her mother shuts the door gently. Lucrezia hears the flurry of activity outside, punctuated by the gentle ‘ _ping’_ of her phone announcing a new text.

_Cesare._

She clumsily grasps for a towel to wipe off her hands, and grabs her phone off of the toilet seat next to the tub.

_I’m on my way home. Make sure Juan doesn’t say or do anything stupid._

A second goes by, and then the phone pings again.

_Everything will be all right, sis._

Lucrezia smiles, and replies:

_Is that in your doctrinally sound opinion, brother?_

_PING!_

_Of course, my love. If God is for us, who can stand against us?_

****  
New York Times bestselling author Reverend Doctor Rodrigo Borgia, Ph.D., M.Div. etc., etc., hates being surrounded by idiots.   
  
‘ _Unfortunately, it seems it is my lot. My reward for choosing a devout life.’_

He grimaces. They are mostly kind, well meaning idiots, but still idiots nonetheless. Tenting his fingers in front of his nose, he resists rolling his eyes at the panic that has befallen his fellow pastors, executives,  and evangelists. They seem to have been caught unawares by their mentor’s death and are under the impression that, without him, America will fall into a pit of heathen disrepair.

Which wouldn’t be inaccurate, he supposes. The deceased Reverend was the People’s Pastor, the symbol of Evangelical Christianity for over half a century. At presidential installations, rallies, and amidst national tragedies he was there with his own special kind of simple preaching and overwhelming grace. He transcended denominations and faiths and his death left a huge void. The Borgia family has been anticipating this void for years.

 _Now is the time to strike._  

Borgia shakes his head and slowly stands. “Gentlemen. I doubt even our Lord Jesus Christ had such mayhem at the event of his death.”

A few of the younger pastors titter nervously, but the Reverend’s son David shoots him a glare. Borgia nods.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. However, we are falling to pieces at the time when our brothers and sisters need us most. In the wake of our dear mentor’s death, millions of Christians will be looking to us for guidance and strength, and we must not let them down. Have we heard from the President yet?”

“He called as soon as he heard. He’s going to do a formal address, and he also asked about the funeral,” David responds, his eyes still angry.

Borgia glances over at Reverend Simmons, who nods and walks over to David.

“Son, you don’t look well. You’re shaking. Would you like me to take you home to be with your family?” Simmons places a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. David brushes it off and shakes his head vigorously.

“No. Dad would want me here. I need to be here.”

“David.” Borgia sighs, his deep voice dripping with sympathy. “It’s all right. Everything will be here when you come back. We’ll plan the business side of things, the stadium, funeral, transportation for you and your family...”

“But the message,” David says shakily. “I do the message and the prayer. Dad wanted it that way.”

A barely perceptible murmur erupts in the room. The message is the effectual passing of the torch, and the key to the entire funeral. Borgia sees all the cogs turning in the executives’ heads. A particularly mousy looking one ( _The head of accounting...? )_ clears his throat.

“Are you sure you’ll feel up to it? At your own father’s funeral in front of all of those people? We don’t want you to be under pressure.” Several others mumble in agreement, faced clouded with ‘concern.’

Borgia glares at the sandy haired bean counter in the corner, who cowers back behind his clipboard. “Shush.” He nods his head in deference to David. “Of course. Those are his last wishes. We wouldn’t dream of having anyone else do it.”

Sated, David drops his head and stalks out of the room, Simmons at his back. The remaining pastors and executives relax visibly.

“So, are we thinking Michigan Stadium then? And who gets the broadcasting rights?” Borgia, finally enacting the part he was born to play, sinks into the minutiae of planning one of the world’s largest funerals.

***

  _FLIGHT 572  SDF to CLT- DELAYED_

“Mother, why are planes always late? I swear, I have never been on a plane that is early, and have surely never waited for a plane that is early either!”

“The only planes that are early, Lucy, are the ones we are running to catch,” Juan jokes, and lightly tugs on one of her golden curls.

Lucrezia scrunches up her face. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Juan, don’t call her Lucy,” Vanozza responds automatically. Gioffre, their youngest brother, tries to run off with a group of flight attendants, but is restrained by their mother.

Juan rolls his eyes and absentmindedly adjusts his tie. Lucrezia sticks out her tongue, aware that she is being _extremely_ immature for a sixteen year old girl. “ _A young woman,”_ her mother’s voice echoes in her head. Well, she hates it sometimes. Being responsible all the time is an extreme bore.

Walking over to the news stand, Lucrezia sighs when she sees the most prominent magazine cover. It’s   _Time_ ’s Person of the Year issue which happens to be dedicated to her father and his co-workers. The cover image is of Rodrigo Borgia, impeccably suited and surrounded by other well-suited men with serious faces. Splashed over them is the headline “ _THE NEW DISCIPLES: Is this the Second Coming of Christianity?”_

Lucrezia scoffs and flips the magazine so that her father’s likenesses are sandwiched against each other.

“Are you sick of Father’s face already? It’s all barely even started.” Juan comes up behind her and pats her head like she’s a child. “It’s only going to get worse. You should just get used to it.” He bends down slightly so he’s face to face with her. “We all have a part to play in this game, Lucy.”

“God, don’t call me...” She grunts as he pinches her cheek. “I’m not five, Juan. You can’t just squish my face around like you used to.”

“But you have such lovely chubby cheeks, sis. They’re asking for it.” He pinches her again before walking back to the rest of the family.

Lucrezia frowns at her eldest brother’s retreating back.  An aspiring politician, Juan’s public persona reeks of the saccharine desperation of the chronically untalented. As a councilman he is decidedly ineffectual, lacking their mother’s quiet cunning and their father’s overwhelming charisma.

_Instead he’s just a toad. A stupid toad that pinches his sister and fucks anything that stands still long enough._

Suddenly, off in the distance Lucrezia catches a glimpse of dark curls and a familiar solemn scowl. With a squeal she races through the crowd of incoming travellers, ignoring her mother’s reprimands.

“CESARE!”

Her brother’s dark eyes search the airport. Finally locking onto her, he grins and runs to meet her halfway. Once they’re barely a foot apart, he stops and stares in amazement.

“You look...different, sis.”

Lucrezia scoffs. “You do too. Now you look... _old.”_ She laughs and launches herself into his arms.

Cesare catches her effortlessly, still a little stunned, and palms her mass of blonde ringlets. She smells of burnt caramel and lilac and _home_ and his heart swells painfully. Laughing delightedly, she pulls away after a moment, her eyes watery.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“I think I may have a bit of an idea... Are you okay? Has everything been crazy?”

Lucrezia laughs harshly, more of a bark than anything. “Juan has been, well, Juan. You know. Pinching my cheeks and doing cheesy stuff as if he’s constantly being followed by paparazzi.  Gioffre likes middle school well enough. Mama and Papa have been busy. I don’t know! Everything’s been so awful with you gone.”

She clutches his hand like a lifeline as Juan, Mama, and Gioffre catch up. Cesare is forced to give them each awkward one armed hugs, but Lucrezia doesn’t care. With his warm palm against hers, everything suddenly feels right and whole again, and she treasures the feeling. Every time he comes home from seminary, she prays that he won’t have to leave again but of course he always does, and _every time_ it hurts a little bit more than the last.

It’s always been this way, with her and Cesare against the world. Vanozza was dreadfully sick after Lucrezia’s birth and Juan, who was eleven and therefore old enough to understand what was going on, blamed her for ages. With Rodrigo busy and Juan resentful, her care was given up to nannies and seven year old Cesare, who adored her from her first moment on this Earth.

Standing next to the baggage claim, her arm still looped through Cesare’s, Lucrezia tentatively asks, “So what’s going to happen next, with Father and the association and everything? What will we have to do?”

Cesare chuckles lightly. “Officially sis? Nothing at all.”

She scrunches up her face and pokes him in the arm. “You wouldn’t be here for nothing. I _know_ there’s a plan, and I want to help! Please tell me.”

“Not here, Lucrezia.”

“Ugh, you sound just like Juan, as if there’s people spying on us at all times.”

He licks his lips before he murmurs, “I don’t think we’re being followed or anything, but Charlotte is a small town when it comes to the family and our secrets. With the Reverend dying and all...” He glances around.  “People already suspect that it was one of his associates.”

“Oh _please._ He was so old, it was bound to happen! What do people think happened...like he was poisoned or something? People die, even kind and pious people.”

Cesare laughs, pulling his arm from hers to grab his suitcase. “Now you’re the philosopher of the family?”

“Oh, not at all, _Doctor Borgia.”_

Throwing her a dramatic shocked expression, Cesare wraps his arm around her shoulder as they walk to rejoin the family. “I’ve barely even started. It’ll be years before I’m actually Doctor Borgia.”

“Yeah, well you’d better get used to it.”

***

It takes a long drive home and a quick cat nap before Cesare feels remotely human. Straightening out his messy bedhead, he stalks down the hallway of his family’s mansion and attempts to enter Lucrezia’s room. The door is locked.  

“Is that my brother?”

He chuckles gently. “Yes, but only one, I’m afraid.”

“Good.” He hears a gentle rustle and the soft ‘click’ of the deadbolt. Lucrezia opens the door halfway and pokes her head out.

“Hey.” Cesare leans forward and rubs his nose against hers. She grimaces and laughs. “Since when do we lock doors in this household? I though Mother and Father forbade it.”

“Since Gioffre’s creepy little friends made it their goal to see me naked, that’s when.” She opens the door fully and ushers him in before shutting it. “It was one of their weird games. Some sort of sexual awakening perverted thing, I don’t know.” She flops onto her bed.

Cesare sits gently onto the pink and grey bedspread. “Aren’t they all twelve? Why would they...” He purses his lips and stares out her window, a strange twisting sensation spreading through his insides.

“They’re just kids...most of them are only children anyways, they don’t have their own sisters to spy on. Anyhow.” She tugs his sleeve in an effort to pull him closer. He looks away from the window and sighs before scooting higher onto the bed. “Gioffre was grossed out and told Mother, and Mother told me, and Father said I could lock my door now that we’re not all little and there’s adolescent perverts running around the house.”

Curling up underneath his outstretched arm, Lucrezia takes a deep breath, inhaling the spicy scent of her brother’s cologne as well as a strangely stale, musty odour that clings to his clothes. “You smell,” she mumbles.

“Hey! I decided to grace you with my presence before I took a shower. You should feel privileged to bask in my body odor.”

“No, not that.” She pokes him gently in the ribs. “You smell weird. Like...old books.”

“Well, I am a grad student,” he chuckles. “I basically live in the library.”

“Yeah I guess so.”

A companionable silence follows, both siblings comfortable enough to not say anything. Finally, Lucrezia pulls herself up on to her elbows and looks her brother in the eye. “When will you stop leaving?” she asks in a small voice, the ‘ _me’_ at the end of the question heavily implied.

Cesare sighs. “When my research is done and my dissertation is finished... When I pass my defence and get my gown and dorky hat. _Then_ I can come home for good.”

They both know it isn’t true.

“Do you even _like_ God, Cesare?”

He laughs and sits up straight, having sunk into Lucrezia’s copious pillow collection. “I don’t know if God is someone that one can merely _like.”_

“I guess so. It’s just that you spend all your time writing and researching about God...I just want to make sure you’re happy, that’s all.”

Cesare smiles and buries a kiss in his sister’s hair. “Thanks, sis. Don’t worry, I’m happy at school...but not as happy as I am here with you.”

She chuckles contentedly and burrows back under his arm; he closes his eyes, smiles, and finally relaxes.

 

 

         


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not as though Cesare hates God, or even hates his life, it’s just that his father’s desperation for his success is extremely stifling. “ _One in the Church and one in the State,”_ is Rodrigo’s mantra regarding his eldest sons, his reasoning that the family’s interests will therefore be protected from both sides. The complex relationship between religion and politics has then always been mirrored by Juan and Cesare Borgia, to the detriment of their familial bond.

After showering and changing into a conservative suit, Cesare walks into the Association’s headquarters, ignoring the stares and whispers from onlookers. He approaches the harried looking woman at information, ‘Celia’ according to her garish plastic nametag.

“Hi, I’m Cesare Borgia, here to see my father.”

Celia glances up from her computer long enough to give him a quick once-over, before droning, “Reverend Borgia is in a very important private meeting right now. He is unable to take visitors.”

Cesares fist clenches tightly at his side, but he schools his features into the very picture of calm gratitude. “Of course. I’ll come back later. Thank you for your time...” He runs his fingers through his hair absent-mindedly “... _Celia.”_

He catches her eyes with his own, and smiles warmly, before turning to leave.

“Wait!” she calls out after he’s taken a few steps. He grins to himself.

“Yes?”

Celia looks around conspiratorially before sighing. “They break for dinner in ten minutes in Hall 3-A. I’m sorry for being difficult, but it’s a closed meeting and security’s been tight because of...well, you know.”

“I understand. No need to apologize. These past few days must have been difficult for everyone here.”

 Elated, Celia smiles a true smile at him while nodding her head enthusiastically. “Oh, totally. He was like a father for all of America. Kathy who works downstairs has had the last few days off because she’s been crying all the time.”

“I can’t imagine what his family is going through,” Cesare says, glancing down with remorse. “They’re so strong to deal with this is in public.”

He glances up in time to see Celia’s face twinge in _just_ the right way.

_She knows something._

“It can’t be easy, but it’s been amazing watching David on TV talking about his dad. It’s comforting for people to see that everything is still running the way it should here, and that his vision won’t be forgotten...” Cesare’s voice trails off, and he smiles sadly at Celia, who looks ready to explode.

“I...” She glances around again before leaning towards him slightly, conspiratorially. “Okay, don’t go telling anyone this, but this morning they had to take David to a psych evaluation. He was very upset after leaving the meeting today and his wife called to tell me that he’ll be taking the week off on a Doctor’s orders. Well, it wasn’t his normal doctor she was talking about, so I Googled him and...” Her voice lowers to a whisper, “...he’s a _head_ doctor, who works in the psych ward.” She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. “Pity.”

Cesare nods gently. “I’ll be sure to pray for him. Uh...” He glances at his watch. “I’m going to head over to the boardroom to meet my father.” Cocking his head slightly to the side, he says “Thank you so much for your time, Celia,” his voice dripping in sincerity, before heading to the elevator.

_Psych evaluation...I can use that,_ he muses.

The beige and white interior of the elevator screams of the seventies, and Cesare wrinkles his nose at the yellowed floor tiles. _The Association’s headquarters are far past their prime,_ he muses, _much like their antiquated ideals._

The third flood is bustling with activity when he arrives. Cesare spots his father by his salt-and-pepper hair at the far end of the hall, talking in hushed tones with Reverend Sforza. Striding purposefully through the crowd, Cesare clears his throat gently.

Rodrigo glances up, and a huge smile breaks across his face. “My son. Would you excuse us, Ascanio?” The other man nods his head and leaves.

Steering him by his elbow, Rodrigo leads them both into a quiet corner. “So, “ he says, pursing his lips, “What’s the word out there? I’ve been cooped up in here with the bureaucrats ever since the Reverend’s passing.”

Cesare glances over at the other men, currently milling around a table full of wraps, before responding, “There’s a lot of public sympathy for David from the American people. The Reverend was like a father to all of them, and so they assume his pain is like theirs, only extremely magnified.”

“They would be correct.” Rodrigo shrugs. “He was in the meeting this morning, but left early on. He’s getting irrational, and insists on leading his father’s funeral.” He looks pointedly at his son. “You know we can’t have that.”

“Yes, I understand. The passing of the torch and all that. Actually...I heard something earlier that may be in our best interests.”

Rodrigo’s face remains impassive, but his dark eyes sparkle. “Go on.”

“After he was... _escorted_ from your meeting, David met with a psychiatrist for an evaluation.” Cesare bites his lip. “It could be seen as routine after his father’s passing, but it’s still something we can use...”

“...if we play it the right way,” Rodrigo finishes. Clapping his son lightly on the shoulder, he nods. “Good, good. Now...what are you willing to do for our family?”

Cesare bristles. “Anything Father, you know that.”

“That’s good to hear. We’ll be having a formal dinner in two days to finalize the plans for the funeral and the leadership of the Association. It’ll be at the dining room upstairs, and we’re having it catered by Soul. David should be there.”

“Actually, my source told me he’s taking the week off. Doctor’s orders.”

Rodrigo’s eyes flash again, and he grins slowly. “Even better. I’ll make sure he comes, then when he breaks down, it will seem all the more inevitable.”

“And he will break down, won’t he Father?”

“That’s where you come in, my son. The food and drink will be kept in 5-C, and it will be mostly unguarded. You should be able to slip in and...”

The silence speaks for itself. Cesare nods. “I understand.”

“Good! Now, head home and make sure your brother hasn’t done anything stupid today. I need to get myself a wrap.”

***

The Borgia homestead is a sprawling 10,000 square foot estate with a pool, games room, projection TV, and fully stocked kitchen with private chef. However, according to Lucrezia it is a prison.

Transplanted from California to Charlotte, North Carolina just over a two years ago, Lucrezia has never felt truly at home in her family’s large house amongst their polite, Southern neighbours.  She’s been recently intrigued by the death of the Reverend and all the scheming surrounding it but, ultimately, she still feels like an outsider.

Sitting in her family’s sunroom, attempting to read a book while her mom does a cross stitch and Juan texts, she finally explodes.    

“I honestly don’t understand why _we_ have to live here anyways. The Association has a private jet, plus Father has a travelling allowance! We could just go back home and Father could come visit us.”

Vanozza slaps her needlework onto the coffee table. “Lucrezia, we’ve discussed this! Your father needs us here, so that’s where we’ll stay. Why is this such an issue?”

“Kids at my school are ridiculous, Mother! When I first started, they asked me why my name was so ‘funny.’ I told them it’s because my family is Spanish-Italian, and then they said, ‘So, you’re like a Mexican? If you’re Mexican, why are you white?”

 Juan chuckles darkly. “Fucking hillbillies.”

“Juan! Language!” Vanozza scolds.

“I understand that it’s more intense for Father now that the Reverend his died, but we were doing fine when he was here and we were at home.” Lucrezia shrugs. “I think it’s just putting more stress on us, honestly.”

“It’s for his image, Lucy. Father can’t be a powerful man in the Christian community without the appearance of a doting, successful family. If he was here and we were there it would just look bad.”

“Thank you, Juan.” Vanozza says, her face betraying her surprise that her eldest actually said something useful for a change. “It’s more than just image, too. You and your brothers need to become visible in the community and the Association as well, to get our name out in other venues. Like Cesare is doing at seminary.”

“Speak of the Devil,” Juan mutters, right before his younger brother pops his head through the door.

“Hey! I just got back from headquarters. Lucrezia, may I borrow your laptop? I haven’t unpacked mine yet”

 “Of course” Lucrezia grins at her favourite sibling.

“How is everyone doing, Cesare?” Vanozza inquires. “Is everything running smoothly?”

“Smooth as silk, Mother.” He smiles warily. “I just need to get some work done.” He turns down the hallway to his sister’s room.

He hasn’t even opened the lid of her laptop before Lucrezia slinks in, closing the door gently behind her.

“So,” she says, staring at him pointedly. “What’s really going on?”

Cesare scoffs, quickly logging on to his email account. “Nothing. Normal funeral stuff. Work things. I have to do research for my thesis. You know...stuff. Do you have a proxy server on this thing?”

“Oh my God.” Lucrezia rolls her eyes and flops onto her bed. “You can’t lie to me, and you’re asking about a fucking proxy server? You practically stink of intrigue.” She crawls over her pillows and sits cross-legged next to the desk, her eyes sparkling like her father’s. “What does Father want you to do? Can I help?”

“Nothing! And even if there was anything, no! You can’t help.” He glances over at his sister’s forlorn expression and licks his lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt. The more you know...the more dangerous it is for you. So...it’s nothing.”

Lucrezia sighs heavily, and reaches over to squeeze her brother in an awkward side-hug. Resting her head on his shoulder, she mumbles, “It’s okay. I just hate feeling left out, that’s all.”

Cesare leans his head against hers. “I know. It’s really nothing, honestly.”

“Nothing.” She straightens up, and dangles a small ziplock bag in front of his face. “Is five grams of cocaine _nothing_ to you now, brother?”

He stares at her incredulously. “Did you just _pick_ my _pocket?_ Who are you, Oliver Twist?”

“Oliver Twist is an awful pickpocket, Cesare. I would rather call myself the Artful Dodger.” She giggles as he grabs at the small baggie, before stuffing it into her bra. “Honestly, don’t you read?”

“Lucrezia...” he groans. She grins at him devilishly and scoots further back on her bed.

“I know this isn’t yours. You don’t do drugs. Now tell me what’s going on, and I’ll give it back.”

“That’s not fair, sis.” Cesare rubs his face, frustrated at her childish antics. “It’s not like I can take your secrets and blackmail _you_ by shoving them down my pants.”

“Like that would stop me.” She crosses her arms in front of her. “I’m not scared of your dick. We used to have baths together when we were kids. You _peed on my doll_ when I was two.”

“Did you just insinuate that I have the penis of an eight year old?” He shakes his head. “The insults just keep on coming. Children these days.”

She laughs and sticks out her tongue.  Closing the lid of her laptop, he stands and throws his sweater onto her chair. “Well, if that’s the case...”

It’s not even close to a fair fight. Cesare’s six-foot-two frame dwarfs his sister’s five feet and five inches. The bed squeaks in protest as he scrambles across the blanket and wrestles her down. Only seconds pass before he pins his sister to her own bed with his much longer limbs, careful not to snag her golden curls. She grunts in protest and wiggles furiously as he secures both of her hands in one of his and, with his middle and index fingers, gently probes into the valley between her breasts.

“Aha,” he breathes, retrieving the bag between his fingertips. His sister is silent, her witty comebacks mysteriously absent. Suddenly, he becomes aware of the pink blush high on Lucrezia’s cheeks, the way her wide eyes are fixed on his own, and how her mouth is slightly open, her sweet breath ghosting onto his lips. She takes a deep breath and, for a quick moment, her soft breasts press against his chest.  

_Oh._

His hands start shaking, and he quickly stuffs his bag into his pocket before he drops it. He is about to stand up and regain his composure when Lucrezia leans her head up against his and whispers, half an inch from his lips, “ _You can’t lie to me.”_  

He is frozen, his eyes glued to hers.  She tilts her head gently to the side, nudging his nose with her own, and he feels his stomach clench at the familiar sensation.

“I...I...know.”

“CESARE!!!”

Stiffening as if electrocuted, Cesare launches himself from the bed, and runs out the door. In his haste he nearly collides with Juan, who is in mid-bellow.

“CESA..oof!” Juan steadies himself against the wall, and snaps, “Where were you? Father wants to know if ‘everything is on schedule.”

Cesare stares at him wide-eyed, still dazed and unsure of what’s going on. Juan narrows his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” He looks over his brother’s face, than glances lower and grins. “Ahh...say no more.” He slaps Cesare on the back. “You should have just told me! I know a bunch of lovely ladies who specialize in your sort of illness. I’m sure seminary has been quite a test for you.”

“What?”

Juan gestures vaguely at Cesare’s crotch. “You need to get laid. I understand!”

Cesare is suddenly aware of an uncomfortable tightness in his pants, and his heart leaps into his throat. He frantically covers himself with his hands.

Juan bursts into peals of uncontrollable laughter. “You...are...adorable!” he squeaks through chuckles. “I mean...wait a second.” He pauses, his finger pointed in midair as if to indicate the proverbial light bulb turning on. “You were just in Lucrezia’s room.”

It’s one of the most uncomfortable moments of Cesare’s life as he stares into his older brother’s eyes, trying to _will_ the thoughts out of his brother’s brain. His mind races, five million possible scenarios playing out simultaneously in his head. _They’ll kick me out, I’ll be thrown out of school, I’ll never see my family again, Father will never forgive me, I’ll be locked up forever and get raped in jail, PLEASE GOD no, please please please..._  

Finally, Juan punches him in the shoulder and hisses, “You were watching porn on _Lucrezia’s_ computer?”    

Cesare’s mouth drops open, and he feels like his entire body has turned into jello. “I...” He clears his throat and chuckles nervously. “Pretty dumb, hey?”

Juan laughs, a loud, gregarious noise that almost gives Cesare a heart attack. “No, I get it, man. You live life on the wild side.” He shakes his head. “I’ve underestimated you. Any time you’re up for a little bit of excitement, just tell me. I’ll set you up with some of my...favorite ladies.”

Flashing his brother a devilish grin, Juan stalks back down the hallway towards the kitchen. Cesare waits until he’s out of view before collapsing onto the floor, his back sliding against the wall. He glances over at his sister’s room and catches a glimpse of wide grey eyes peering through a crack in the door, right before it quickly slams shut.

_Great._

 


	3. Chapter 3

Cesare doesn’t know how long he sits there, still numb from the loss of adrenaline that had rushed through him only moments earlier. His eyes remain fixed on Lucrezia’s doorway. Finally, shaking his head to awaken his senses, he pushes himself up and silently stalks down the hall to his former bedroom.

The familiar grey walls and navy blue bed sheets are comfortingly sterile, no doubt freshly washed in anticipation of his arrival. Groaning, he flops onto the bed and buries his face into the plump feather pillows, his thoughts still racing frantically through his head.

They’ve always been different, him and Lucrezia. Closer than most siblings for sure, but there’s also always been something... _more_ between them. Vanozza often remarks that, despite the seven year age difference, the two of them act like twins, always together and finishing each other’s sentences.  Juan thinks it’s weird and creepy, but most of his scorn likely stems from residual jealousy over the fact that Cesare preferred to play dolls with Lucrezia over brotherly sports. Rodrigo constantly jokes that when Lucrezia starts dating, her boyfriends will not only have to deal with her father at the door with a shotgun, but also with her brother slinking in the shadows with a switchblade.

But that’s just them. Cesare and Lucrezia.

 _But earlier..._ He buries his head further into his pillow and shakes his head furiously, as if his pillow could scrub the memories from his brain.

Juan was right. It _has_ been a long time since he’s spent quality time with a woman. Seminary and research and all the moral judgements that come along with his line of work have put a serious damper on his sex life for the past few years.  With the Reverend’s passing, and leadership of the association up in the air, Cesare knows his family can’t afford any scandal, and a sexually promiscuous son in seminary could very well derail the family’s whole operation.

However, he’s human and male, and things just happen.

 _Things just happen,_ he repeats, prying his head from the pillow. _And it doesn’t have to be weird._

That’s his mantra as he walks slowly back towards Lucrezia’s room. The door is open and he hears a faint humming coming from her bathroom. Giving a couple perfunctory knocks, he slips inside and peeks his head into the open bathroom doorway.

Lucrezia is plucking her eyebrows, her round face wincing after every tug. He stands in the doorframe and watches her manoeuvre the tiny tweezers with practiced precision.

“I can’t believe my little sister plucks her eyebrows now. My God.”

She rolls her eyes and smirks at her own reflection in the mirror. “I know you all like to think of me as one of the boys, but I’m afraid I’m almost a fully grown woman now, and women pluck their eyebrows.”

“You were never one of the boys, sis,” Cesare responds, his voice slightly rough. She chuckles lightly.

“I guess so. If anything, you were one of the girls. None of my friends played Barbies as good as you.”

He looks down at his toes, a small smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, uhhhh...” He glances back up at her.

She’s radiant. She always has been but this visit, the time that’s passed since he’s last seen her, has really highlighted how truly extraordinary his little sister is. Her face is almost cherubic in its innocence, her bow lips slightly open revealing her small pink tongue licking the corner of her mouth in concentration. Her hair falls down her shoulders to her waist, golden and curly with only a light halo of frizz surrounding her face. She’s still got a bit of baby fat to her cheeks and her arms, but most of her body is gently rounded with mature curves barely hidden under her shorts and tank top. She’s unquestionably beautiful.

_And she’s my sister._

With a quick sigh of satisfaction, Lucrezia drops the tweezers onto the counter and brushes the loose hairs from her brows.

“How do I look?”

Five thousand responses run through Cesare’s head, before he settles on “You look the same.”

She scowls and playfully punches him in the shoulder. “Are you just here to critique my grooming habits, or do you actually need something?”

He takes a deep breath and looks her straight in the eyes.

“I just needed to tell you...”

_That I know you saw Juan and I talking about sex and my boner and stuff, and I’m sorry._

_That the wrestling today crossed a line, and that you felt the thing between us._

_That I’m never going to hurt you. You don’t need to be afraid of me._

_That I think I need to spend some time away from you, to sort things out with myself._

_That things just happen, and it doesn’t have to be weird._

“...that I think supper is ready. Spaghetti with fresh foccacia.”

“Yumm!” Lucrezia smiles and shoves him to the side. “Last one there is a sweaty jockstrap!”

As he watches her run away, her hair billowing behind her like a cape, Cesare wonders when he got so meek.

***

The night of the formal dinner arrives, and Cesare inconspicuously slips in with the catering crew when they start setting up in a side room. With the thick glasses on his face, an ugly moustache, and hair tied up in a hairnet, he wouldn’t even recognize himself, and the food-safe vinyl gloves assure that his prints won’t be found.  

His plan is rudimentary, relying mostly on luck and the room’s lack of video surveillance. A few grams of cocaine in David’s drink should be enough to turn him into a blathering mess which, barring any issue, should send him straight back to the psych ward. Reverend Sforza will bring up David’s inability to lead the funeral, rationally suggest Rodrigo, and the matter will be settled.

Cesare is arranging crudités on a platter when he notices a thin redheaded man watching him closely. The man has an unremarkable face, but his piercing dark eyes make Cesare’s stomach roll uncomfortably.

When the manager assigns both of them to carry in an ice sculpture from the delivery van, Cesare watches as the redheaded man nods in his direction. Heart thumping uncontrollably, he walks carefully outside and, when the other man pulls the keys from out of his pocket, Cesare resists the urge to bash his head into the van’s doors.

“I had heard that your family’s prospects were shrinking. I had no idea you had to take on a second job...Cesare Borgia.”

 The redheaded man looks up at him and grins. Cesare is frozen for only a second before he grabs the slightly smaller man by his collar and attempts to throw him into the van. However, the other man is faster, spinning around so that his back is against the vehicle before knocking his head squarely into Cesare’s. Cesare sees stars, but manages to pull his pocket knife from his back pocket just as his opponent encircles Cesare’s neck in a chokehold.

Cesare thrusts his knife into the man’s thigh, but he only grips tighter.

“HNGH! Looks like I underestimated you, Cesare... unngghhh...Borgia...I though you would be easier to kill...”

Cesare gasps for air, his vision going black. Just before he passes out, his opponent shoves him onto the parking lot. Arms limp and head swimming, Cesare barely has time to sit up before the man pushes him into the ground with a hand around his neck.

“You know...I was really dreading this whole killing business. You Borgias seem like a fun group of people. Do it yourself-ers...”

“Unngghhh....” Cesare breathes, his hands grasping for purchase on the asphalt.

“It’s a shame,” the man muses. He pins Cesare’s arms above his head, and slowly removes his other hand from his victim’s neck. “Shhhh....I’d hate to have to kill you.”

“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it,” Cesare hisses. The man rolls his eyes.

“It’s all about money with you people!”

“I could use you,” Cesare breathes, his dark eyes stormy. “Give you experiences you’d never dreamed of. You want to work for us, I can see it in your eyes.”

The man pauses. “See...that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t want to work for your family.” He pushes away from Cesare, stands, limping slightly, and offers his hand. “I want to work for _you_.”

Cesare eyes the man’s proffered hand warily. “For me? Why?”

“Because you’re a man of action, and potential. You see all the bullshit going on and you want to fix it yourself. You’re going places, I can tell, and I want to go with you.”

Grabbing the man’s arm, Cesare hoists himself to his feet. “Fine.” He grasps the man’s hand and shakes it firmly. “This all feels very old fashioned, but I could always use some help. Your name is...?”

The man gives a grim smile, but his eyes sparkle. “Micheletto. But you can call me Mike. And I’m an old fashioned type of man.”

“Micheletto. So,” Cesare gestures to the slightly dented van and his pocketknife still gouged in the other man’s thigh. “How are we going to do this?”

***

Cesare and Micheletto manage to get the ice sculpture into the hall without the mostly clueless caterers noticing the red gouge on the latter man’s leg. Once safely outside again, Cesare bites his lip and nervously pulls his little baggie of cocaine from out of his pocket.

“So, since we’re friends now, uh, this was my plan.”

Micheletto grunts good naturedly and pulls a similar small bag of white powder from his pocket. “This was my...previous employer’s plan.  And before you ask, no, I won’t tell you who it is. Not yet.”

 “What do we do now?”

Taking the small bag from Cesare, Micheletto examines both closely, then glances back up. “This should be very effective. How far are you willing to go?”

“Excuse me?”

“For your father. Your family. How far do you want to go?”

Cesare purses his lips and nods. “As far as possible.”

“Okay then.” Micheletto places both bags in his pocket, and grasps Cesare’s shoulders. “You need to go out and be seen. Make a minor scandal. Get a good alibi. Leave the rest to me.”

Thinking of Juan and his hookers, Cesare grimaces. “Well, I can try. I’m not willing to get an STD for my family though. What about you?”

The other man shrugs. “Don’t worry about me. Legally, I don’t even exist.” Micheletto claps him on the shoulder firmly. “The other staff will be leaving in about five minutes. Exit with them, and then go out and do what you Borgias do best.”

***

After taking the bus home and washing off the glue from his horrendous fake moustache, Cesare calls his brother. “Juan. Where are you?”

“Out at some...strippers...two for one highballs.” The thumping bass on the other end obscures most of the conversation, but Cesare gets the gist of it.

“Great. Hey, you were right about my...problem, earlier. Get some of your girls, and we can go out tonight. I’ll meet you at Onyx.”

His brother’s squeals of glee nearly deafen him, and he wrinkles his nose when he hangs up the phone. He turns to find Lucrezia staring at him quietly.

“You going out tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. You know, brotherly bonding. You about to go to bed?”

She snorts. “It’s nine fifty-six, Cesare. I’m not twelve anymore, I can stay up past ten.”

“Right. Well...I’d better go.” He awkwardly slides past her, grabbing his coat from his bed. He’s barely down the hallway when he hears her.

“Are you going to be just like him now? Going out all the time?”

Stopping, mid-step, he sighs. “No. It’s just one night, and I’m not going to be dicking around like Juan. I just...”

“I know.”

 _I’m so glad you_ don’t _know._ “Yeah. It’s tough being gone all the time, and seminary can get pretty...stale.”

She crosses the hall and envelops him in a hug, her hair tickling his nose. “All those books are probably pretty boring companions.”

He closes his eyes as the scent of warm fruit and caramel floods his nostrils. “They aren’t much for conversation, that’s for sure. Hey.” Pushing her gently away, he brushes her damp hair from her cheeks and gently tweaks her nose. “It’s only one night. I’ll be back tomorrow, and I promise not to impregnate anyone or acquire any new diseases, okay?”

Pushing her hair out of her face, Lucrezia scolds, “And don’t get super drunk.”

“Uhhh, I can’t promise that. I need to live a little. I won’t do anything crazy though.”

Hours later, after only two drinks and an ungodly amount of bass-thumping hip hop and techno, as Cesare peels Juan from the naked lap of one of his “friends” and hoists him into a waiting car, the slight buzz of his phone’s notification reminds him that, while he didn’t do anything crazy, his new friend just might have.

And when he receives the news that David is in critical condition following a stroke caused by a speedball overdose, Cesare realizes that crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucrezia wakes up when her mother rests a feather-light kiss to her forehead. Vanozza’s eyes look troubled and, judging by the slight tremor in her voice, the Borgia matriarch is shaken.

“The Reverend’s son David overdosed last night, my angel. Father is back at headquarters in another meeting.”

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Lucrezia pushes her head off of her pillow. Suppressing a yawn, she asks, “Where was he? Is he dead?”

“It was at the supper last night; they found him in the bathroom. He’s stabilized and in the hospital now.” She pauses. “He had a stroke brought on by the combination of drugs he took. Lord...I am so blessed that you kids never got into drugs. Even Juan with all of his problems...I’ve never had to worry about something like this.”

An image of Cesare’s little baggie from the previous day flashes into Lucrezia’s head, and she shakes her head. “That doesn’t make sense. Are you saying that David was a crack head or something?”

“They don’t know. Father said the police are pretty sure it was intentional. He was having some mental health problems.”

“That’s awful.” Cesare’s baggie of drugs is still in the forefront of Lucrezia’s mind, and she can’t shake the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. _He did this. I know it._

“Mother?” she asks tentatively.

“Hmmm?”

“Did Cesare come home last night?”

“No, dear. He and Juan got a hotel room last night. Apparently Juan had a few too many drinks, and they didn’t want to wake us by coming home late.”

Lucrezia scoffs. “And he was probably with too many women to fit through the door. I can’t believe Cesare went out with him last night.”

Vonozza clucks her tongue lightly and raises an eyebrow. “He’s allowed to have some fun, isn’t he? He’ll only be in town for a little while. I’m amazed that they’re spending any time together at all...I have to admit that it make me happy.” She gives a little shrug and a smile. “My boys.”

Running her fingers through her sleep tangled hair, Lucrezia sighs. “You make it sound like a good thing.”

“Stop being such a grump. There are waffles downstairs if you hurry.”

Lucrezia watches her mother bustle out the door before grabbing her phone from under her pillow.

_WHERE RU???_

An uncomfortable minute passes before she get’s Cesare’s reply.

_Hotel downtown. Juan is super hungover, and I have to go to HQ. More meetings because of David_

There’s no delicate way to bring up her suspicions over text, so Lucrezia refrains from interrogating her brother and instead tries to pry at him with sweetness.

  _L I miss you. We’re having waffles for breakfast, your fave!_

_Eat extra for me. I’m sorry I have to be out today. I’ll make it up to you._

_Is that a promise?_

_Of course. Hey, I’ve g2g sorry. Love you._

Placing her phone on her nightstand, Lucrezia slumps back onto her bed and stares at the ceiling.

It did and didn’t make sense. There’s no way Cesare would voluntarily party with Juan, or do drugs, or even miss Vanozza’s waffles, but apparently this _New_ Cesare would do all those things, all while making promises whose emptiness was perceptible via text.

However, David’s sudden and apparent drug use last night puts all of those character inconsistencies into a new light, and Lucrezia is chilled to the bone when she realizes how deep her brother has delved for their father.

***

“Juan?”

“nnnrrrrghhhhh...”

It’s 10:37 and Cesare is already late for his meeting at Headquarters. Rubbing his sore eyes with one of his hands, he uses the other to yank open the curtains next to his brother’s bed. Juan, naked and covered in little purple bruises, continues to make incomprehensible mumbling noises while writhing in apparent pain, smashing his face into his pillow to avoid the sun.

“Juan, I am so fucking late right now. Please drag your ass out of bed and into a cab home so that I can leave knowing that you won’t accidentally kill yourself.”

Juan groans a response that sounds remarkably like ‘fuck you,” and Cesare resists the urge to leave him there to rot in his own bodily fluids.

Last night was, to put it lightly, a mess. There was a copious amount of alcohol, strippers, hookers, and music that was far too loud for Cesare’s taste. Though he did drink a little, his imbibing was nothing compared to his brother’s various cocktail of debaucheries, many of which were captured for posterity by the millions of phones flashing in his face last night.

_My alibi is probably streaming over Instagram and Facebook right now._

The room phone goes off abruptly and Juan throws another garbled stream of curses in its general direction. Cesare grabs it before it can ring again and, instead of being harassed by his harried father, is greeted by a chipper voice on the other end.

_“Your breakfast is poolside as you requested, sir.”_

Cesare is taken aback. “But I didn’t order a breakfast...”

“ _Is this Mr. Cesare Borgia?”_

“Yes, but I didn’t order breakfast.”

The lady on the other end sighs. “ _I’m sorry sir_ , _there must have been a mistake.”_

Glancing at his watch, Cesare realizes there’s no hope of him making his father’s meeting, and his stomach grumbles loudly. “You know what, never mind. I’ll take the breakfast. It might be nice.”

“ _Oh excellent! What a happy accident!”_

“Yeah, it’s awesome. Uh...could you send someone to clean up here? My brother had a bit too much fun last night.”

_“Yes, ah, I’ll send up a couple of staff members to help clean Mr. Borgia. Is that acceptable?”_

“Oh! That would be great.” He furrows his brow. “I didn’t know you guys did that. Thanks...”

“ _It’s our pleasure. Will that be all?”_

Cesare nods awkwardly before he realizes that the nice receptionist can’t see him. “Uh yeah, thank you so much.”

“ _Enjoy your breakfast, sir.”_

Throwing one last disgusted glance at his brother, Cesare dons his wrinkled shirt from last night and plods out the glass door onto his poolside patio. As he searches for his breakfast cart, his eyes catch a glimpse of auburn hair, and he squints in confusion.

Sure enough, his delicious looking breakfast is parked right next to Micheletto, who is slathered in sunscreen and lounging in one of the deck chairs. Cesare slides into the neighbouring chair and pokes the other man in the shoulder.

“Hey. What the hell are you doing here?”

Micheletto cracks one of his eyelids open and grimaces at the bright sunlight. “Meeting you for breakfast, naturally. How was your night?”

“What? Oh, of course it was you.” Cesare grabs a croissant from the tray next to him, and bites into it enthusiastically. After Cesare gives a nod of approval, Micheletto takes one as well.

“My night was awful. Too much booze and too many hookers. You can probably check online if you want to see the details.”

“I already did. Good job.”

“Thanks. Speaking of good jobs...” Cesare brushes the crumbs out of his stubble and pours himself a cup of coffee. “How was your night?”

“Uneventful.”

Snorting into his mug, Cesare resists the urge to belly laugh. “Uneventful, you say?”

Micheletto straightens up in his chair and absent-mindedly swipes some sunscreen from his nose. “Yes.”

“So I’m just supposed to accept the fact that you managed to get David into a bathroom alone and inject him with illegal substances, while not being seen or heard? How is that possible?”

“You shouldn’t focus on the ‘how’ in this situation. Just realize that yes, it is possible.” Pulling what looks suspiciously like a burner phone from his pocket, Micheletto glances around before standing abruptly. He smoothes his shorts over his legs and fixes Cesare with a gentle, but very pointed, stare. “And my night _was_ very uneventful. After I finished working I went home, fed my cat, and went to bed. Nothing out of sorts happened. Now...Enjoy the rest of your breakfast...I’ll keep in touch.”

 Cesare watches his retreating form, and then grabs another croissant.

“Huh.”

***

“Darn it. Cesare isn’t answering.”

Rodrigo Borgia stuffs the offending phone into his pocket. The always present Ascanio Sforza rolls his eyes and leads Rodrigo into a corner of the stuffed conference room.

“Don’t you think he’s...done enough for you at this point?”

“Ascanio...” Rodrigo warns, a bitter edge to his voice. Sforza raises his hands in a mock defensive position.

“I’m just saying. If he hangs around too much, people will notice. Julian Della Rovere has already been asking questions.”

“He can ask as many questions as he wants as long as he doesn’t actually find out anything.” Glancing at the other men milling about, the Borgia patriarch grits his teeth and checks his phone again.

“It looks like we’ll be on our own,” Sforza mumbles.

“Gentlemen, if you could take your seats, our meeting will now commence.” Reverend Simmons sits in his seat and begins shuffling papers impatiently. Rodrigo raises an eyebrow at Sforza, who rolls his eyes in response.

The meeting is mostly logistical number crunching drivel, with some minor disagreements thrown in for color. Finally the matter of the quickly approaching funeral is brought up, and Rodrigo braces himself for the impending argument.

“So, who’s going to be the ringmaster of this dog and pony show?” Sforza asks with his trademark deadpan delivery. “I vote Borgia.”

Several titters spread through the room. Julian Della Rovere, a balding minster in his late fifties, stands abruptly in protest. “Absolutely NOT!”

More murmurs spread through the conference room. Rodrigo sits back in his chair and tilts his head slightly. “I’m sorry? Have I offended you in some way?”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” Della Rovere spits. He turns to Sforza, whose face is breaking into a grin. “Why on Earth would you suggest that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe since Rodrigo is currently occupying the cover of TIME magazine, is a great public speaker, and has served this association for most of his life?”

“People do recognize him,” Reverend Simmons interjects. “It might be comforting to have the service led by someone the public knows.”

“Just because he is on the cover of some magazine doesn’t make him the right choice. The Reverend would probably fall out of heaven in shock if he saw this... _man..._ leading his memorial service!”

“I am a man, yes,” Rodrigo answers calmly. “But please, Julian, if you have something against me, please air it here in front of our brothers in Christ.”

“You...” Della Rovere starts, his face turning red. “You were nothing before you started here. You’re only here for fame, money, you’ve been manipulating everyone here for your own gain! Hiring your own son, giving company endorsement to your other child’s political career...the only reason the Reverend kept you around was because you’re good with advertising and promotions! It’s absolutely _sickening_ think of you leading his service, and leading this association!”

Pushing his chair back, Rodrigo also stands, but with the conviction of man who knows he had nothing to worry about. “I’m sorry that you feel this way.” He surveys the shocked crowd of men seated at the table. “Do any of you also feel this?”

 Faced with the option of either endorsing Rodrigo Borgia, one of the most well known and affluent Christian figures of the time, or Julian Della Rovere, a Fox News ‘religion’ correspondent and polarizing mascot of the GOP, the remaining men sat silent, their protests dying on their tongues. Della Rovere deflates at the lack of support, and slumps back into his chair.

Rodrigo raises his eyebrows. “I see.” He sits as well.

Ascanio Sforza raises his hand. “I officially nominate Rodrigo Borgia to lead the Reverend’s memorial service.”

Reverend Simmons nods. “I second. All in favour?”

Reluctantly, all of the men gathered around the table raise their hands. Even Della Rovere, urged on by an elbow from the elderly Reverend Allen, flips two fingers of ascent in Simmons’s direction before dropping his face into his palm.

“It’s settled then. Can we help you with preparing your sermon, Reverend Borgia?”

“Oh no, I’ll be fine.” Smiling to the other men, Rodrigo pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Cesare.

_OK 4 funeral. Thnx 4 ‘helping’_

***

“It seems morbid to dress up for a funeral.”

Cesare chuckles at Lucrezia’s comment, her voice only slightly obscured by her closed bathroom door. He leans back on her bed, flicking the juvenile ruffles of her bedspread as he waits for her to finish her beauty routine.

“It’s a sign of respect, sis. The Reverend was a great man.”

The door cracks open, and Lucrezia’s cherubic face pops out. “I could hear the air quotes around the word ‘great’,” she notes. “You don’t agree?”

“I suppose he’s helped a lot of people, and built a great empire. I don’t know. There’s just been so much fuss over the past week. He was just one man.”

As he speaks, Cesare feels his stomach clench with the stress of the past few days. The fact that he, Father, and Micheletto seem to have emerged unscathed and victorious challenges his own view on justice and the omnipotence of God. He inhales deeply to steady himself.

It’s not the first time Cesare has doubted. Indeed, his professors always reassure their pupils that doubt is the by product of a free will, and an indicator that one needs to strengthen their faith. However, in the past his doubts have been easily assuaged by prayer, rest, and spending time with his dear Lucrezia. This time, prayer escapes him; it seems almost foolish. Rest is fleeting, and his sister...

_Is off limits._

 Rising from the bed, Cesare turns to the bathroom, where Lucrezia has resumed her beauty routine. Leaning against the doorframe, he chuckles when he sees her familiar par of tweezers.

“Attacking your eyebrows again, sis?”

She shoots him a cheeky smile. “Of course. They grow back, you know.”

“Right. It’s just that...”

_You’re already so beautiful._

He hesitates, and finally the frustration of the past God-awful week bares its teeth.

_I can’t breathe._

Steadying himself against the doorframe, Cesare wills his heart to slow down. Then, with grim determination written on his face, enters the sacred domain of Lucrezia’s bathroom. Wrapping his arms carefully around her waist, he buries his face into her curls and lightly inhales. It’s the closest they’ve been since the _incident_ five days ago, and both of their bodies instantly relax at the contact.

Lucrezia feels as though a five hundred pound weight has been lifted from her shoulders. They’ve always been close, both emotionally and physically, and the awkwardness between them during the previous week has been absolutely stifling. Meeting her own gaze in the mirror, she is startled by how _intimate_ they look, Cesare’s hands slightly fisted in the fabric of her dress, her own cheeks flushed with warmth. Her eyes startle her with their intensity, and she drops them to stare at Cesare’s long fingers wrapped in the ribbons of their skirt.

They’re finally both adults, both capable of making their own decisions, yet the idea of not being with her brother, of moving out and going to school and marrying and having kids frightens her so much she can barely breathe. She remembers when he had first moved away to go to university in Kentucky. She’d been so young and shameless then, and Vanozza had to physically pry her off of her brother’s legs so that he could board the plane. She had cried so hard that airport security had rushed over to make sure she wasn’t hurt and, in that moment, Lucrezia had felt as though her heart had been ripped in two and stomped on.

She had tried to move on, but ultimately she still feels abandoned and empty. Even with his hands around her waist holding her exactly like he used to, Lucrezia holds a tiny bit of bitterness in her heart because _he_ was the one who left, who moved on and became his own person, and now he holds secrets from her and it’s _killing_ her.

Pushing away her moment of melancholy, she giggles when Cesare mumbles something incomprehensible into her neck, relishing the tickling sensation.

“What were you saying about my eyebrows, brother?” she murmurs, tracing his fingernails with her own. Her question breaks Cesare out of his trance, and he awkwardly tries to pull his hands away, but she’s faster, catching them and digging her nails slightly into the soft skin of his wrist.

“I was saying that I think you should take it easy on your eyebrows, since they’re already perfect.”

“Oh, so you’re a connoisseur of eyebrows now?” Lucrezia quirks hers in response.

“No! I just don’t want you to end up like those old ladies who have to get their eyebrows tattooed on because they’ve plucked them all away. Besides...” He pulls a hand from her grasp and gently tugs the tweezers from her fingers. “We’re going to be late for the funeral.”

He turns to exit the bathroom but she’s quicker, darting in between him and the doorway. Backing up, she closes the door and faces him with an intense stare.

“Wait.”

He’s about to counter her with a quip about the doneness of her makeup, but her fact screams ‘serious conversation’ and his stomach drops with dread. They’re due for several awkward and sensitive talks, and Cesare is unsure whether he can handle any of them at this moment.

“I just need one honest answer,” Lucrezia says earnestly.

Cesare holds his breath.

“What were you really doing that night? When you were supposedly out with Juan?”

He exhales, but just barely. Lucrezia notices, but files the observation away for later perusal.

“I...”

“Remember, you can’t lie to me.”

“I haven’t lied to you. It’s just very complicated.”

“And what? I’m too stupid to figure it out?”

“No!” He shakes his head furiously. “I don’t want to burden you with everything that’s going on right now. You already have enough to worry about.”

“Ha!” Lucrezia leans her head back against the door and smiles. “Because being a sophomore at high school is so stressful. Come on, Cesare...we used to share everything. If something is stressing you out, please tell me.”

Cesare stands as rigid as he can, not daring to look at Lucrezia’s pleading face. When they were kids, her gentle wheedling could get him to do anything, but now he has his own life, his own problems.

_Aw, fuck it._

“I went to the Association dinner to spike David’s drink with cocaine, but I ran into this guy, Miche-Mike, his name was Mike, and he was sent to take out Father or I by injecting us with heroin, but we go into a fight in a parking lot and then I got him to work for our family, well just for me actually, sort of, and he told me to go out and get an alibi, so I went out with Juan and he injected David with a speedball which gave him a seizure.”

Cesare stares aghast at his sister, stunned that he’d dropped so much information on her at once.

Lucrezia shrugs. “Cool. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She steps aside and opens the door.

Dumbstruck, Cesare follows his sister out of her room and down the hallway.

“So...this all doesn’t bother you?”

“Honestly?” She turns to face him. “I’d rather be murdering people with you then feeding the poor without you. If you think this is the right thing to do, then I’m fine with it.”

Giving him a small smile, Lucrezia draws Cesare in for a hug, reaching up on the tips of her toes to encircle his neck with her arms. Chuckling, he grasps her waist in his own arms and lifts off the ground, just like he used to do when they were younger.

Lucrezia buries her head into the crook of his shoulder and mumbles, “We’re a team. We’ve always been a team.”

Inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, Cesare bites his lip and nods. “Always.”

***

_“Let us pray,_

_Our gracious God and heavenly Father._  
 _Thank you for gifting Us with the presence of your servant._  
 _Thank you for his strength, for his service, and for his faith, Lord._  
 _And, though it can be hard for Us to understand, thank you for calling him home to you now”._

Cesare peeks his head up from his hands and surveys the packed stadium. His father, dressed in a sombre black Armani suit leads the final prayer with a quiet conviction on the podium, despite being surrounded by no less than twenty cameras and microphones.

The service had been respectful, dignified and, according to Cesare’s sources, one of the most watched television event in history. Glancing over at Lucrezia, he notices mascara-blackened tears running down her porcelain face.  
  
 _“Help Us know that We are not alone, that you remain with Us._  
 _Please fortify and strengthen Us, your children, to bear the cross and cause in our dear brother’s stead._  
 _With humility and grace, and above all else in love, for it is written:_  
 _‘Whoever does not love does not know You, because You are love.’_

_Finally Lord, give wisdom and courage and strength to Us, the leaders of your church._  
 _Imbue Us with the fortitude to continue your work on Earth._  
 _I pray that, going from this time of mourning, We will be renewed in spirit and in faith._  
 _And above all else remember that it is through You that We achieve great things._  
 _In your precious name We pray,_  
 _Amen.”_

Cesare clutches his sister’s hand as the sonorous din of over a hundred thousand ‘amens’ echoes through the stadium. She wipes a tear, more out of fear than sorrow, from her cheek and whispers, “Did you hear that, brother?”

“Hear what, sis?”

She raises her head proudly towards the front of the stage, her mouth pursed in determination. Rodrigo, head bowed, steps back from the pulpit and takes his seat next to the President, who nods and claps him on the shoulder solemnly.   
  
“All of those people following Father. It’s the sound of... power.” She shivers. “The sound of our lives being ripped apart.” Her breath catches in her throat and a few more tears fall down her cheeks.

“The sound of everything changing.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“We’re trending!”

Cesare glances up from his cereal to see his darling sister waving her iPhone in his face. He rolls his eyes and resumes eating his corn pops.

“Thrilling.”

“Seriously? That’s all?” Lucrezia slumps down on the chair next to him and grabs for the cereal. Cesare gently slaps her hand away and wags a disapproving finger in her direction.

“Hands off my pops, sis. That’s the rule.”

“That’s a _dumb_ rule. I feel like I deserve corn pops today because we’re trending.”

“Oh, and that’s such a great accomplishment?”

“Hey.” Lucrezia grabs his chin and turns his face towards hers. “Sometimes you forget that at least one of us here is a teenage girl.”

“At least one,” he parrots back to her and nips playfully at her fingers. Thumbing him on the nose, she giggles and unsuccessfully tries to snag his bowl of cereal.

“I’m serious. #Borgia is trending _worldwide._ This is basically unthinkably awesome for me.”

“And I’m sure you worked really hard to get there. Well, I’ll tell you what.” Cesare grabs his cereal box. “You can have some of my corn pops...once #LucreziaBorgia is trending.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I never kid.” Cesare grins at his sister’s exasperated face. “Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow anyways. Just wait until I’m gone to eat all of my corn pops.”

Lucrezia’s face falls. ‘You know that’s not the same.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of them sit in silence, the mention of Cesare’s impending departure effectively killing the mood. Rodrigo had announced it last night, right after the service. Apparently, Cesare was ‘needed’ at the seminary for some ‘important task,’ and Cesare knew better than to challenges his father after such a rousing family success.

“It’s just gotten to the point where I’m sick of you coming back, just because it means I’ll eventually have to say goodbye again. You’re always leaving and I’m stuck here just...” She chokes back a small sob. “Just waiting for you to come home again.”

“Lucrezia.” Cesare sighs and scoops her into his arms for an awkward seated hug. Burying her face into his chest, she sucks in deep lungfuls of his comforting scent, a mixture of fresh laundry, cologne, and a slight hint of books.

“What’s this?” A drowsy Juan stumbles into the kitchen, hair askew, and Cesare awkwardly pushes Lucrezia away. Juan eyes him warily.

“I’m just sad that our darling brother is leaving again, Juan,” Lucrezia cocks her head and Juan rolls his eyes.

“The solution for your pain is to make more friends, dear Lucy,” Juan says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “You have, what, three friends at school?”

She snorts defensively. “We’ve only just moved!”

“It’s been years, don’t give me that. I’m just saying, it’s kind of unnatural for you to be so fixated on Cesare and to not have any friends your own age. God, when I was your age, I had already had four girlfriends.”

“If you could call them that,” Cesare mumbles. He stands up and half heartedly rinses his bowl before placing it in the dishwasher. “I seem to recall that they were significantly younger than you.”

“You were just jealous.”

“Oh that’s _right._ I remember now. I was twelve and jealous of those fourteen year olds you called girlfriends. _”_ He flashes Lucrezia a sympathetic smile and exits the kitchen. Juan, sensing an opportune moment to show off his exceptional skills as a role model, takes Cesare’s vacant seat and clutches his sister’s hands in his own. His palms are clammy.

“I’m honestly quite concerned about you, you know. We all are, Cesare included. It’s not right for you to be on your computer and texting your brother all the time.”

“It’s what people do, Juan,” Lucrezia spits. She attempts to pull her hands away, but his grip intensifies.

“Other people may do it, but you’re a Borgia. You need to be engaged, sociable, in the spotlight. For Father’s sake, you need to be nice, Lucrezia.”

“I’m _nice,_ I can be nice. Stop touching me.” She doesn’t like Juan on the best of days, but she can tell that this particular subject has been fed to him by their father, and she resents him even more for it.

“So, what do I have to do?”

Juan looks delighted that his sister seems to have so easily fallen prey to his superior coercive tactics, and lets her hands go to retrieve a memo from his back pocket. “Father has decided to spearhead a revival of the True Love Waits program, and he wants you to be one of the faces of it.”

“He wants be to be the mascot of a group that tells teenagers to not have sex.” Lucrezia buries her face in her hands. “Why is everyone determined to ruin my social life?”

“I thought we had already established that you don’t have a social life, Lucy. This is a very important program for Father, and he trusts that you will perform admirably.” Juan gives her the serious look that she and Cesare have dubbed his ‘Rooster on Meth’ face, and Lucrezia chews her lip to keep from laughing.

“Again, what would I be expected to do?”

“Well, we have several large rallies booked in all the major cities: Louisville, Dallas, Atlanta, you know. You would be expected to do a little speech, and maybe sign autographs and take pictures with people.”

“So, I would be sort of famous?”

“Not sort of. You would be one of the faces of a national campaign. This is your big break, and such a great opportunity for our family. You know...” He grins conspiratorially. “#Borgia is trending today.”

***  
“Grande Soymilk Latte, no foam, extra hot for...Caesar?”

“It’s _Cesare.”_ He states pointedly to the confused barista, who mumbles a quick “whatever, man” and resumes wiping the counter. Spotting a familiar shock of red hair in the corner, he grabs his latte and heads over to Micheletto, who is nonchalantly scrolling through his phone.

“Your family is trending.”

“Ugh, I know. Wait...you’re on Twitter?”

“I’m everywhere there’s information. I have an account, but I don’t...tweet.” He flinches as if the term is physically painful to say.

Cesare chuckled. “I get it. My sister tried to get me on it, but I didn’t see the point. Still don’t, actually.”

“Just another opiate of the masses. It appeals to people who fancy themselves authors but don’t have the attention span to write over 140 characters.” Micheletto offers Cesare a vanilla bean scone, which the latter bites into with gusto. “So, when are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” Cesare responds through a mouthful of scone. “Wanna come?”

Micheletto shrugs. “It could be interesting. Will you be needing me there?”

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure. I don’t want to waste your time or your skills just sending you around getting coffee for me. Louisville is usually pretty quiet.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been.”

Cesare chuckles. “Really. Why were you there?”

“Business.” Micheletto glances up at Cesare’s smirk and cocks his head. “Something funny?”

“No, not really. I just realized how little I know about you. It’s so weird, I could probably Google my barista and figure out more about him then I could about you.”

“We should keep it that way. I’ve met a lot of unpleasant people that would probably spring on the chance to be connected to Cesare Borgia.”

“Honestly, though. You don’t even have a Facebook page. You can’t blame me from being curious.”

“Fine.” Micheletto fixes him with a stare so serious it makes his heart thump. “You may ask me one question about myself, and I will answer it to the best of my abilities.”

Cesare chews his lip. “Okay. Where are you from?”

Without missing a beat, Micheletto replies, “Vancouver, British Columbia.”

“You’re Canadian?”

“I suppose so.”

“What do you mean, ‘you suppose so’?”

“You only get one question, remember? I’ll let you ask another later.”

“If I’m good?” Cesare asks cheekily. Micheletto snorts.

“You could say that. Anyways, why are you being sent back to school, aside from the whole finishing your thesis and researching thing.”

“I don’t know, really. Father is unfolding his weird three pronged progeny attack on the conference as some sort of power play. Apparently I’m supposed to be spearheading some sort of Creation Science campaign with a couple of prominent professors from seminary.”

Micheletto wipes his hands on his napkin. “Thrilling. Lots of ‘p’ words in that. Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the debates on whether creationism is a valid scientific teaching. Be sure to disprove the existence of dinosaurs while you’re at it. What will your other siblings be up to?”

Cesare chuckles darkly. “Well Juan is still campaigning for state senate, but once he’s in Father wants him to go hard on the whole Marriage Equality thing.”

Micheletto flinches. “And your sister?”

“I’m not sure.” Cesare takes a sip of his latte and stares at his cup for a few seconds. The happy mermaid lady seems to be mocking him. “Father hasn’t told me.”

“You don’t think he trusts you?”

“He trusts me, but he also knows me. He knows that I won’t hesitate to defy him if Lucrezia’s happiness is in jeopardy. That’s why I’m worried. I feel like it has to be something bad if he isn’t telling me.”

“I think I may know what it is.”

Raising his eyebrows, Cesare takes the phone that Micheletto pushes in his direction. At first he’s confused; the image is of a young, unwashed-looking couple staring dreamily into the camera, with the letters ‘TLW’ emblazoned in the corner. He scrolls down and scans the information.

“They’re re-launching True Love Waits? You think they want Lucrezia for this?”

“Well, why wouldn’t they?” Micheletto pockets his phone. “She’s young and beautiful, and definitely paints an attractive picture of chastity for the masses. Not like those two Hot Topic rejects they have now.” He leans forward. “My source tells me that they’ve already picked a young man to go on speaking engagements. He’s linked to the Association higher ups, which is why I assumed they would be grooming your sister for it as well.”

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“Gio Sforza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, and that it's so short! I had a big project that I finished recently, and it's taken me a while to get back into the swing of things. Good news it, I've already started the next chapter, so it should be up soon. Thank you to everyone for all of your great comments :)


	6. Chapter 6

Vanozza Borgia is tired, and has been for the past twelve years. Her joints ache, her vision is fuzzy, and even her skin feels both unbearably tight and hopelessly saggy. Ever since the will of God had defied her doctor’s orders and Gioffre had been born from her weary, prolapsed, thirty six year old womb, Vanozza has felt like a shell of her former self, her energy sapped away along with her youth and beauty.

Rodrigo still insists that she’s the most beautiful woman alive, but Vanozza isn’t stupid. He’s always had an eye for youth, which is why he married her when she was nineteen and he was twenty seven.

“Like a fine wine, my love,” he croons whenever they’re out, but she always notices his eyes wandering to a waitress’s perky breasts, a parishioner’s tight ass, a stranger’s milky, unlined skin.

_I was beautiful once,_ she muses in front of her mirror while Rodrigo snores in their bedroom. _I was beautiful enough to be bought for thousands of dollars a night._ _I was beautiful enough to tempt a young pastor on the streets of California while he preached about modesty and celibacy._

Her beauty is most apparent in Cesare, whose glossy chestnut hair and thick eyelashes echo his mother’s youth. In reality, all of Vanozza’s children share her charisma. It’s in Juan’s enigmatic smile and twinkling eyes, in Gioffre’s apple dumpling cheeks and laugh.

In Lucrezia’s innocent seductiveness.

Vanozza stifles a small cry and quickly turns to shut her bathroom door. Rodrigo told her right before bed that Lucrezia would be the new face of True Love Waits and she _hates_ it.

_“She’s too young!” she hissed at him. Rodrigo rolled his eyes._

_“She’s sixteen. You were working at sixteen and you turned out all right.” He attempted to elbow her good naturedly._

_She snapped. “RODRIGO! One of the reasons I married you was so that my children would have a better life than I did. My daughter shouldn’t have to sell herself just so our family can succeed.”_

_“I’m just kidding. It’s only a few pictures and some trips. I’ll take her along on the Crusades, it will be just like old times. She’ll love it.”_

At least she still has Gioffre, for now. Rodrigo keeps dropping hints that their youngest would be better suited for boarding school somewhere exotic, but it’s the one issue she avoids discussing outright. There’s no need to send him away, not yet. Not when she’s still under fifty and Lucrezia is still at home.

It’s simply ridiculous, she thinks. Of course, by nature Rodrigo is a restless creature, ready to move where the wind takes him, and it’s true that some stability would be good for their youngest son. It’s just that they’re all still so young and his restlessness, which was originally attractive in a man under thirty, just seems fickle in an almost sixty year old.

_They’re all so young.  S_ he’s still young as well, but she feels tired and worn out like an old shoe that’s been through mud one too many times.

“When does it get easier?” she whispers to her reflection. No one answers.

***

 “So, you’re leaving today.”

It isn’t a question. Lucrezia stares up at Cesare from her reclined position on the living room couch, daring him to respond. He wrinkles his nose and sits down on the ottoman next to her. As a gesture of peace, he passes her his plate of freshly toasted Pop Tarts. With an exasperated huff, she grabs a strawberry one and bites into it while scowling, the crumbs falling onto her pyjama top.

He chooses chocolate and nibbles at the frosting free edges. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. You know why I have to leave.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. And I don’t understand why you have to go. You’re an adult now. You don’t have to do whatever Father tells you to do.”

Cesare snorts. “Yeah, sure. Tell that to my tuition and my cell phone bills.”

“Fuck your cell phone bills. Maybe you should get a job like a normal person.”

Cesare opens his mouth, ready to explain the concept of grad school to his naive sister, but changes his mind and instead nods in her direction. “Of course. You’re right, as usual. I’ll go and apply at McDonald’s this afternoon.”

“Damn straight.”

“Lucrezia, mind your tongue,” Rodrigo chastises as he walks into the room, his first of many black coffees nursing in his hands. He sits in the leather wingback chair across from the couch and immediately begins lecturing his children. “Cesare, be sure to meet up with Dr. Phil Bonar as soon as you arrive on campus. He wants you to TA his class on early Reformers, and he’ll be a valuable asset later on in your career. Jacob Tate’s daughter Maddie is starting her freshman year of her undergrad, and he requested that you show her around and introduce her to some people. Also, remember to text your mother as soon as you land. As for you Lucrezia.” He smiles warmly. “Your campaign will be starting this Friday. I’ve already called your school and made arrangements. Juan will drop you off, since I have a meeting at that time.”

“But Papa...” Lucrezia starts, but Cesare squeezes her knee to silence her.

Rodrigo beams at both of them. “Thank you both for your co-operation. I’m so proud of both of you, and all that you have done for our family.” He plants a kiss on his daughter’s forehead and scoots out of the door before she can protest.

Lucrezia takes a deep breath and moans. “I can’t believe him! I’ve worked so hard to seem normal at school, and now he wants me to be the poster virgin for some lame Association propaganda campaign. As if I wasn’t weird enough.”

“You’re not weird,” Cesare responds dutifully, clasping his sister’s hand in his own. “You’re just going to be the most famous girl at your school, that’s for sure.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing. _Fuck_. Both you and Juan are such fame whores and only Juan gets the spotlight. I see how you look at him.” She squeezes his hand. “You were seething when he got elected, and you’ve been seething ever since. God help you if he actually ends up a Senator. You’ll probably drop dead from an envy overload.”

Cesare can’t argue with her.

“I wish I was you,” she continues. “I wish I could run away to seminary and be free from Papa’s weird schemes and Juan’s fuckups and Mama’s anxiety. I wish that I wasn’t just a face for the family; I have a brain too.”

“I know you do.” Cesare kisses her forehead but, unlike their father’s cold and clammy lips, his kiss is warm and lingering. She catches the collar of his shirt and pulls his face down so that their eyes are level.

“Please don’t leave,” she breathes. Her breath ghosts over Cesare’s lips and he suppresses a shudder.

“Please don’t ask me that again,” he responds.

“Why?” Her eyes are wide and haunting, almost frantic in their wild desperation.

“Because I might say yes.”

Lucrezia reaches around his neck and pulls his face down to hers. With every inch, his hazel eyes darken with that complex expression that she finds herself craving these days. She loves feeling the power that she wields over her brother and relishes the unconditional love he gives in return.

Their noses touch, and she instinctively rubs his with her own.

“Lucrezia.” Cesare closes his eyes.

She licks her lips. “Cesare. Please...don’t...”

“Cesare! It’s time to leave!”

Juan’s nasal bellow echoes from the hall, forcing the siblings apart. Cesare shakes his head in an attempt to clear the fog from his brain.

Like his voice, Juan’s entrances are always loud and obnoxious. He sweeps into the living room like a peacock on Ritalin and immediately grabs Cesare’s shoulder in a misplaced gesture of brotherly camaraderie.

“ Father has informed me that I am to be your chauffer today. I don’t know why you couldn’t just take the car like the rest of us, but whatever. Father gets what Father wants. Have you packed?”

“Uh, yeah. My bags are in the trunk of the Lexus.” Cesare responds, his eyes trained on Lucrezia who seems engrossed in all of her latest text messages.

“Well, get your ass into the Lexus and then we can be off.” He wags his finger at his siblings. “Do you two need a moment to do your...thing?”

“No, just take him and go, Juan,” Lucrezia says. “The sooner he’s gone, the sooner I can get on with my life.”

“Whoa, harsh Lucy.” Juan claps Cesare on the back. “Well, I guess that’s life here in the sticks, bro. I’ll get my contacts to hook you up with some nice Louisville pussy to soothe your heartache as soon as you get back.”

Cesare gives one final mournful look to Lucrezia who very intentionally avoids his stare.

_I wish I could stay, you know I do. I’m so sorry._

She avoids looking at him until he and Juan are halfway down the hall. Crawling to the edge of the couch, she watches their retreating backs. Cesare’s body is stiff with tension and she notices his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms, a tick he’s had since childhood which indicates that he’s stressed and uncomfortable.

They’re not even gone for five minutes before she gets a text from him.

_I’m sorry. I promise to Skype you whenever you want. I love you <3_

Ignoring the warmth spreading through her chest, she texts back a curt reply.

_Save some <3 for all of that louisville pussy _

She shoves her phone into the couch cushions, and deliberately ignores its ‘ _ping-_ ing _’_ for the rest of the day.

***

Micheletto Corella is first and foremost a loyal friend and ally. So when Cesare texts him on Thursday at 3:37 in the afternoon with a frantic request to ‘ _look after my sister for a bit please, I’m worried about her haven’t heard from her in days,’_ he heads to the Starbucks closest to the Borgia residence, orders a green tea latte, and waits.

Sure enough, at 3:45 Lucrezia Borgia and two girls who look suspiciously like her teen entourage waltz into the Starbucks and order a round of frappachinos. Under the pretence of plugging in his phone, Micheletto  eases himself into the armchair next to Lucrezia’s table.

“Oh. My. God, I am way too fat to be drinking this,” her brunette comrade moans as she takes a drag of her mocha chip beverage.

Lucrezia laughs while the other girl, a mousy blonde with buck teeth replies, “Shut up Mel, you weigh, like, ninety pounds.”

Mel chuckles darkly. “Right. You’re such a fucking liar Emily. There’s no way any Christian fundies would be jerking off to _me,_ hey Lucrezia? Since you’re the expert now.”

“Nobody is jerking off,” Lucrezia sputters. “That’s, like, the opposite of what I’m doing.”

“Well, if the guys aren’t supposed to be having sex, what do you think they’re spending all their time doing?” Mel lowers her voice. “Girls too. Gio Sforza is so fucking hot, I’d wait for him. Have you guys done it yet?”

“What?? I haven’t even _met_ him yet!”

“Riiiight, I forgot. You’re so pure and shit.”

The mousy one, Emily, pipes up. “Right, Lucrezia ‘True Love Waits’ Borgia, the virgin mascot. I bet if you even saw a dick you would spontaneously combust.”

“I’ve seen one!” Lucrezia snaps. “I mean...I felt one, I think.”

The two other girls gasp in unison.

“Lucrezia Borgia, you’ve been holding out on us! Who was it? When?”

Micheletto glances over to see Lucrezia blush deeply as she sips her drink. He debates whether he should leave her in peace, but remembers Cesare’s desperate text and decides to stay.

“Well, I was with this guy and...I felt it...against me,” she chokes out.

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah, I mean I didn’t _see_ it, but all of a sudden it was just... _there.”_

The table descends into raucous squealing, attracting the ire of several other Starbucks patrons. Mel waves her hands to hush the other two.

“Girls, girls, let’s settle down here and get to the important part,” she says seriously. Clutching Lucrezia’s hand in hers, she says in a deadpan tone, “So...how big was it?”

Lucrezia coughs. “I, uhhh, I don’t know. I felt it against my thigh.”

“Well, what were you guys doing? Making out?”

“Oh God, sort of I guess...I don’t really want to talk about it, it’s embarrassing.”

Emily grabs her other hand. “It’s okay, Lucrezia. Do you really like this guy?”

There’s a long pause. Lucrezia swallows and says, “Well, yes. I mean...” She sighs. “Actually...I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him, but I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

“Sweetie!” Mel croons. “He got a boner for you! If that’s not true love, I’m not sure what is.”

“Guys get boners all the time,” Emily says rationally. “I think it’s great that Lucrezia loves this guy, but you shouldn’t give her false hope.”

“I think I’ve been in love with him for a while, but he just can’t feel the same way for me. It’ll never happen. Even if he does love me _like that_ , we could never be together. It’ll never work.” Lucrezia is suddenly overrun with tears. She quickly excuses herself and runs to the bathroom.

Her two friends watch her go, mouths agape. Mel shakes her head.

“It’s Gio Sforza. It has to be. She hasn’t shown interest in anyone for as long as we’ve known her, and now she’s in love with some guy?”

Emily nods in agreement. “Totally. They can never be together? It has to be him. They probably can’t get together because of their contract, or because of her Dad or something.”

Micheletto pulls his phone out of his pocket and fires off a text to Cesare.

_Ur sister in love with Gio Sforza? thats prob y shes so distant._

PING!

_Oh. Okay, well thanks for finding out. I’ll get you a ticket for the next flight to Louisville._

PING!

_Fuck. What’s your legal name?_

Micheletto chuckles to himself and replies,

_Mike Johnson. DOB 15 June 1986._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I've been getting ahead of myself with this story. So far it's going to vaguely follow the plot of the series, but it will diverge after a few more chapters. Thank you all for your great comments!


	7. Chapter 7

It’s six-fifteen AM.

Lucrezia Borgia, guided by her eldest brother Juan, is wheeling along the tarmac at Charlotte Douglas International Airport towards the private jet that will take her across the country. She doesn’t really feel awake at the moment, and her misery is only exacerbated by her brother’s mindless and endless chattering.

Lucrezia doesn’t hate Juan. Sure, sometimes she _feels_ like she hates him, but the burn is usually fleeting, and her venomous barbs against him mostly just serve to shock others. She hates his actions most of the time, and genuinely thinks he’s a lecherous, drunk, overgrown snot rag, but that doesn’t mean that she hates him.

If anything, Lucrezia realises that Juan embodies everything she hates about herself. His laziness, his entitlement, his thirst for fame, everything that makes her feel weak and inferior. She sees the desperation in his eyes and feels the same emotion stir deep in her gut.         

“Oh, just so that you know, Father has already lined up another prominent Association youth to accompany you on tour. His name is Giovanni Sforza, but he prefers to be called Gio.”

“Yes, yes, I knooooww Juan, geez. There’s this thing called Facebook that came out a few years ago.”

“Well I’m sorry, little Miss Know-It-All, I didn’t realize that you had done your research so thoroughly.” Juan elbows her a little too sharply in the arm and she winces.

Their walk down the tarmac seems to take forever, and Lucrezia thanks God that she chose to wear flats this morning. Though she’ll only be gone for a few days at most, Juan had insisted that she should pack at least ten different outfits for the tour, reasoning that she didn’t know the weather situations she would encounter. Now she feels like an idiot rolling down the runway with a huge hard backed suitcase, the sun shining down on her already overly tanned neck.

Finally they reach the plane where a lovely baggage handler stows her suitcase and an equally lovely flight attendant escorts her to her seat. The cabin is mostly empty, with only her handler June and executive director Angus napping in their seats.

“Have a great flight.” Juan leans over and kisses her on the cheek. “Text me when you get there.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, Lucrezia rolls her eyes and pokes her tongue out of the corner of her mouth.

“Wow, that’s attractive.”

Gio Sforza, tall, blonde, and perpetually bored looking, appears from the back of the cabin and slumps into the seat across from Lucrezia.

“Sup.”

“Uh?” Lucrezia struggles to respond. _Oh gosh. He’s so rude and aloof and tall and snobby and...so fucking hot. Oh my God._

Sforza shakes his head. “Wow, you’re eloquent as well. What a catch. So, I heard you’re a giant slut.”

“What?” Lucrezia peeks behind her at June and Angus who are still obliviously sleeping. “What did you call me?”

“I called you a giant slut. That’s what you are, right? You’re a Borgia after all and your brother is a notorious man whore.” Sforza leans back in his chair and attempts to peek under her skirt.

“Well, I guess that’s true,” she muses, her nose wrinkling, “But it’s not fair of you to judge me based on what my brother does. I mean, I don’t judge you based on your family, whoever they are.”

“My mother is the CEO of a multi-million dollar shipping company and my father is dead, fuck you very much. _Your_ father is a glorified televangelist, your mother is an old whore, and your brother is a lecherous failure of a politician.”

“Yeah, well my other brother is a PhD student with _several_ prominent publications under his belt and he’s way smarter that you’ll ever be. And don’t call my mother a whore; even if it is accurate, it’s not polite.”

“Oh, sorry. Your other brother is a nerdy nobody, and your mother is a retired prostitute.”

“Yeah well...” Lucrezia has no reply. Sforza grins slowly like he’s won something of great importance

“At least you’re good to look at,” he drawls. Despite everything, Lucrezia blushes.

_Oh my God, he’s so...so...so..._

_Fucking perfect._

***

“Fuck me, Micheletto.”

The redhead glances cautiously up at Cesare, who is currently nursing an Americano and scrolling through Instagram on his phone. “Excuse me? Surely you mean in the metaphorical sense.”

Cesare snorts and Micheletto goes back to sipping his green tea latte and reading the paper, knowing better than to ask more questions that don’t really need to be asked. They’ve been in Louisville for only a couple of days and already Cesare is acting like a caged dog, pacing frantically and randomly snarling at pictures on Instagram.

“She’s only known this guy for what? A couple of days, a week at the most, and already she’s posting dumb pictures of the two of them all over the internet. I mean, look at this.” Cesare thrusts his phone into Micheletto’s face.  It’s a picture of Lucrezia, her angelic face alight with happiness and her head resting on the shoulder of one bored looking Gio Sforza.

Micheletto can’t stand the look of the boy and if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s judging male aesthetics. Sure, the Sforza boy has the tall athletic build of a young football star. His sandy brown hair falls in charming waves over his bright blue eyes, and his smile is wide and white. However, it’s his eyes that disturb Micheletto; they have a striking dead quality to him. The dazzling smile doesn’t quite reach those eyes.

“I don’t like him,” Micheletto finally pronounces, and Cesare slams his phone triumphantly down onto the table.

“I knew it! You see it too, right? There’s something off about this guy. He looks like a walking corpse!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but there is something off about his eyes.” Micheletto gestures to the image. “He has dead eyes. Probably because of this Conservative celibacy propaganda campaign he’s been forced to spearhead.”

“No, that’s not it. He looks like a fucking serial killer and I don’t want my little sister around him. Where did they dig this guy up from anyways?”

“He’s Ascanio Sforza’s nephew. His mother is Caterina Sforza of the Forli import company. Her husband died almost ten years ago of multiple myeloma and he’s an only child, so essentially he’s the heir to a multi-million dollar company with strong ties to the Association. An obvious choice.”

“Obvious, pfft. This guy looks like he has the charisma of a paper bag.” Cesare takes one last look at Sforza’s pallid appearance and then exits Instagram with a huff. “I can’t believe Lucrezia has to spend so much time with this wet noodle.”

“She seems to be enjoying it.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I overestimated her taste in guys.” His face softens. “So...you said she’s actually having sex with this douchebag?”

“Not _sex_ , per say, I just heard her talking about his...parts with her friends. No actual sex was mentioned.”

Cesare smirks. “I’m not sure you could kill him for me, hey?”

Stiffening, Micheletto straightens in his chair. “If you want him to die, it can be arranged.”

“Nah.” Cesare taps his foot against the ground and then glances up. “Hey, what makes you so eager? To do stuff for me, I mean. Like, I know I pay you to hang around and do errands, but you don’t really seem like the P.A. type.” He chuckles. “Though that is what I’ve told my father about you.”

“That I’m your assistant? I suppose that’s accurate.” Micheletto slurps up the last of his latte. “Honestly, Cesare Borgia, I’m eager because you’re going somewhere and I want to go with you. Maybe you don’t see it, and God knows your father seems hell bent to let you rot away in seminary, but I know that you’re smarter than most of these trust fund fuck ups around here.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Cesare smiles wryly to himself and resumes sipping his beverage. He notices how Micheletto very slightly relaxes in his seat. “Hey,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How many people have you killed?”

Micheletto lets out a harsh bark of a laugh. “You’re assuming I’ve killed before.”

“Oh please.”

“Heh.” Scraping his straw around his cup to get the rest of his latte, Micheletto ponders for a few seconds. “Fourteen.”

Cesare lets out a long whistle. “Wow. I was not expecting that.”

“The first was my...father. If you could call him that. A worthless excuse for a human being. He was being unkind to my Mama and I just slit his throat with a broken bottle.” He shakes his head. “I was young and reckless though and an officer saw me. He was number two.”

“You killed a, a _cop?_ ” Cesare hisses, his coffee long forgotten.

“I’m not proud of any of them, that’s not the point of it at all. The point is I will do _whatever_ is necessary for _whomever_ I choose, and right now that’s you. I want to assure you that you will never have any reason to doubt my capability in any situation, whether there are police, seniors, or even children involved.”

“Micheletto...” Cesare breathes. “I would never ask you.”

“Of course.” The redhead stares at him seriously. “But now you know. Just in case.”

***

“I want you to know, Ascanio, this plan has put me in the doghouse with my wife.”

“At least you have a wife.” Ascanio Sforza grins at Rodrigo Borgia from the couch across the office. Rodrigo is pacing nervously and checking his phone every couple of minutes. Finally he huffs in frustration and sits behind his desk.

Ascanio leans forward. “Tell your wife she has nothing to worry about. My sister Caterina is an excellent mother and she raised an excellent son. Your daughter is in perfectly capable hands.”

“Capable. Humph.”

“More than capable.” Ascanio moves over to the chair across from Rodrigo’s. “Angus has been running this campaign for years without any sort of incident, and June is an amazing and responsible P.A. with decades of experience.”

“It’s not that, it’s just...” Rodrigo struggles to find the right words. “Vanozza is concerned about her _purity.”_

Ascanio looks scandalized. “I assure you, June will make sure she is supervised at all times.”

“Not her virginity, her purity! The wholesomeness of her soul! Vanozza is worried that the fame will go to her head and give her an inflated ego or a deluded sense of self. She wants to make sure Lucrezia doesn’t become overly obsessed with her looks or her ‘feminine wiles.’”

“Well I do suppose Vanozza would be an expert on that.”

Rodrigo shoots him a glare.

“Sorry, that was out of line. I’m just saying though...it’s not as though Lucrezia is become a prostitute. She will be, at most, a _minor_ Christian celebrity. A recognizable face in a niche market. It will hardly be enough to make a dent in her social life, let along her entire self worth.”

“Do you honestly think so?” Rodrigo glances down at his phone and scrolls through his pictures until one of his cherubic, curly haired daughter pops up. He smiles.

Ascanio nods his head adamantly. “I don’t just think so. I know so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow! As you can see, I have fully mapped out the plot and have therefore updated the chapter count. If things go according to plan, this monster should be 20 chapters long! GAHHHHHH  
> Thanks for every single one of your reviews and kudos!


	8. Chapter 8

When the elevator’s doors open smoothly onto the fourth floor of the Association’s headquarters, Rodrigo is already raring to go. Free from the burdens of his children, nagging wife, and the prying media, he’s finally ready to get down to practical business and ready to make a real difference in this God-forsaken culture.

 It’s been almost three weeks since the Reverend’s death, three weeks full of funeral planning and child-wrangling. Of course Cesare has his moments of usefulness, but ultimately Rodrigo finds his children to be primarily unreliable and cantankerous, especially with each other. Since the latter’s birth, Juan and Cesare have fought like cats and dogs, barely stopping to eat or sleep. Lucrezia is a sweetheart, but even she gets caught up in her teenaged female drama.

_Speaking of which._ Stopping outside of his office door, Rodrigo glances at his phone and smiles. His daughter has sent him another photo of herself with Gio Sforza, the boy’s gloomy pallor contrasting with her angelic grin. Surrounded by melancholic men her entire life, Lucrezia seems to gravitate to her dour companion, and Rodrigo isn’t surprised at all that she has taking a liking to Ascanio’s nephew.

_It would be a great match,_ he muses. _Hopefully it would please Gio’s bitch of a mother._

He pushes open his office door and is greeted by an ass. Sure, it’s a glorious ass, but it’s an ass nonetheless, wrapped in a tight grey pencil skirt and accentuated by lovely long legs and sky high patent leather stilettos.

 “Oh my...”

With a squeak, the young lady attached to the ass and legs straightens up revealing a beautiful head of fiery red hair and an absolutely stunning face. “Mr. Borgia! I am so sorry! I spilled your coffee this morning, and it’s my first day, and I just wanted to make a good impression, I’m _so sorry.”_

“Shhhh...” Rodrigo clasps one of her shaking hands in his own. “It’s okay dearie. What brings you here?”

“Gosh, I haven’t even introduced myself.” She shivers nervously, wafting the tantalizing scent of cinnamon and oranges in his direction. “I’m Giulia Farnese. I’m your new secretary.”

Momentarily stunned by her large green eyes, Rodrigo coughs. “Well, ah, Miss Farnese. How’s about some more coffee, eh?”

***  
For the first week or so, ‘Introduction to Church History Part 2’ chugs along like most introductory classes do. Aside from his initial moment of fame during the first class, when he introduced himself as the TA and told the squirming freshmen about his office hours, Cesare has been pretty quiet, only offering a couple gems of insight when Dr. Bonar asks him.

Honestly, Cesare finds life on campus rigidly boring after the brief brush with excitement he had back in Charlotte. Sure, it’s nice to not have to worry about poisoning minor celebrities and being followed by paparazzi, but a life without Lucrezia and the comforts of home leaves much to be desired.

Today’s class is on the early fathers of the Reformation, and Cesare is about to tune out as usual when he notices a new student a couple of seats away. She looks older than the average freshman and has a cape of magnificent golden curls that cascade around her shoulders.

“Hello students.” Dr. Phil Bonar walks into the classroom brandishing a stack of freshly photocopied tests. “There will be a surprise pop quiz today.” The classroom erupts in groans. “But first, I would like to introduce a special guest that is joining today.” He smiles at the blonde. “Class, this is Ursula Bonar. My wife.”

Cesare lets out a low whistle as the class murmurs.

“Yes, my wife, so keep your pick up lines to yourself, gentlemen.” Dr. Bonar levels his class with a mock glare. “After your quiz we will have a question and answer session about the early Reformers. Feel free to ask myself or Mr. Borgia your most burning questions, and we’ll do our best to answer them.” He glances at Cesare. “Any problems with that, Mr. Borgia?”

“No sir,” Cesare says, and promptly cracks his textbook open for some last minute studying.

***  
 After the class is finished, Cesare collects the quizzes from the front desk for marking. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Dr. Bonar’s wife shyly trying to make eye contact with him. Her husband has already left the class, no doubt hurrying to a study group or his never ending office hours. Cesare stuffs the papers into his bag and clears his throat. “Mrs. Bonar?”

“Please, just call me Ursula.”

She has a lilting hint of an accent, Irish most likely, and her soft blonde curls fall into her eyes as she shakes her head. “Only my mother in law calls me Mrs. Bonar. She finds it cute.”

“I see.” Cesare glances around the empty classroom. “What have you come to see on campus, Ursula?”

She smiles, her grin made up of perfect white teeth and plump lips. “Well, I came to see my husband’s class. He won’t stop talking about how engaging and brilliant everyone is.”

“Oh certainly. Even you.”

“Even me? Wow.” He wrinkles his nose. “Is that supposed to be some sort of backhanded compliment?”

Ursula looks shocked for a second. “Gosh, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way at all. I meant to say that you’re mostly the one that he brags about. He says you’re the first T.A. he’s had that isn’t a total numbskull. Really you’re who I came to see, and I’ve honestly been blown away. You’re insight and manner of speaking...it’s amazing.”

“I, uh, thanks. Wow.” Cesare runs his fingers through his hair. Ursula giggles nervously.

“Yeah, I loved hearing your thoughts on Zwingli. Hey.” Her face lights up. “Phil does research every Thursday night at seven here at the College. Would you like to meet at Starbucks and talk more? Here.”

She quickly scribbles her number on a business card and slides it across the desk. Cesare bites his lip and stares at the card tentatively.

“Please,” Ursula pleads. “I’m just a bored housewife who loves apologetics. People assume that Phil and I have discussions at home but he honestly has no time for me. Ever since I’ve graduated and we’ve gotten married I’ve been feeling like my spiritual growth is stagnating and you would be an amazing tutor for me.” She takes in a tentative gasp of air.

“As iron sharpens iron...” Cesare muses.

“Ursula?” Dr. Bonar pokes his head into the classroom. “Are you ready to leave, dear?”

“Yes of course. It was a pleasure speaking to you, Cesare Borgia.”

“Likewise.” He watches the couple exit out the door; Ursula shoots him a fleeting, pleading glance before being ushered out by her husband.

Once they leave, he resumes his staring contest with the card Ursula left on the desk. He looks around the empty classroom again before locking eyes with a solemn bust of Martin Luther located in a far corner.

_Don’t you dare judge me, Luther. You rebelled against your king and started your own fucking branch of Christianity. I just want a bit of fun._

“Aw, fuck it.”

Cesare snatched the phone number from the desk and, throwing a glare at the various effigies of long dead theologians around the room, stalks out the door.

*

That’s how he finds himself, not 24 hours later, grinding up against Ursula Bonar in a dark Starbucks bathroom.

Their conversation had started innocently enough with Zwingli, heated up with Beza, and by the time they had reached John Knox, Ursula was dragging him desperately into the bathroom stall and tugging down his jeans and boxers.

His latte long forgotten, Cesare presses Ursula’s front gently into the cold tile wall as he hastily paws at the waistband of her skirt. Pushing it to the ground, his vision swims as he gazes at the first bare ass he’s seen in months (not counting a drunken Juan’s). She’s fucking gorgeous, all smooth pale curves with a light sprinkling of freckles on her lower back. Not wasting any time, he slips a couple fingers between her legs and gently stretches her and rubs her clit until she urges him on with a hard bucking of her hips.

As he slowly slides into her, Cesare feels the tension inside him finally start to dissipate. Though she’s wet and warm and worth savouring, he is distinctly aware of the diligent Starbucks employees that could barge in at any moment. He picks up the pace, his deep thrusts eliciting muted moans from Ursula.

Even though he’s finally relaxing, Cesare stays focused on the task at hand, on the very real woman in front of him. However, as her moans become more urgent and his stomach coils in anticipation, the carefully erected barriers in his mind start crumbling and he tumbles into one of his favourite and darkest fantasies.

*

_It’s late at night at the Borgia house. Cesare is in his room reading when he hears the squeak of a shower turning on. He glances at the clock. It’s three thirty eight AM._

_“Who the hell is up this late?” he mumbles to himself, closing the book and heading down the hallway. Hot steam is billowing out from the room next to his, the one that smells of sugar and styling products. Uninhibited, he heads into the bedroom, walks over the piles of messy clothing that constantly litter the floor, and peeks into the adjacent bathroom._

_Even through the steam, Cesare can make out the silhouette of a nude figure showering behind the frosted glass door. She’s humming lightly to herself, rubbing her scalp with brisk strokes. She grabs a bottle, squirts something in her hands, and suddenly the room is filled with the overwhelming scent of burnt caramel and vanilla._

_Cesare catches himself hastily removing his clothing. His mind is cloudy from the smells, the humidity of the room, everything is just too much but his brain is screaming STOP, THIS IS WRONG, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

_He pulls up his pants and is about to leave when he hears a throaty moan from the shower.  
“Mmmm, oh yes, augh, Cesare...”_

_Oh God._

_He sheds his clothes in an instant and slinks into the bathroom. Before she even has a chance to register his presence, he slips into the shower and replaces her hand with his own. She’s so soft and wet, and he groans uncontrollably as he rubs her._

_She’s caught up in the sensations for only a second before giving a slight shriek. “Ces...Cesare?”_

_“Shhhh,” he hisses. “Let me.”_

_“But, but you’re...” Her response is lost in another moan._

_“But we must.” He urges her on with his fingers as he buries his nose into the damp hair at the nape of her neck. She’s so soft and beautiful and so perfect for him, like they were made for each other._

_“Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, yes, yes, my angel, I love you so much Lucrezia, I love you...”_

***  
Cesare grasps Ursula’s hips and imagines them smoother, slightly plumper, and slick with soap. Her legs rounder and a touch shorter, so that she has to stand on her tip toes to meet his thrusts. Her back free of distracting freckles, a small oval birthmark on her left shoulder blade...

Overwhelmed with the sensations, Cesare buries his face into her curly blonde hair, inhales and, for a second, imagines the scent of burnt caramel.

He comes in several shuddering bursts, his groans muffled in Ursula’s neck. She moans as well, thrusting back onto him. Sated and finally relaxed, he allows himself a moment of peace before the musky scent of her shampoo brings him back to his senses.

That and the urgent knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hey man, are you okay in there?”

Panicking, Cesare makes some ludicrously fake vomiting noises and groans, “Food poisoning.” The person on the other side of the door seems convinced and mutters a quick sorry before shuffling away.

“Smooth move.” The blonde curls rustle beneath him as Ursula turns to face him. She grabs a wad of brown paper towel from the dispenser to wipe herself. “Hey, it’s a good thing that this place isn’t super environmentally conscious. It would be a pain to try and clean up using one of those Dyson air blade things.”

“Heh.” Pursing his lips, he nods in agreement.

“Oh, and by the way, thank you for the apologetics lesson. I feel holier already.”

“Yeah, no problem. You have a great mind for these things.” Cesare licks his lips. She smirks and punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey, I really did have a great time talking, but I’m afraid I have to be leaving now. I’ll text you,” she says and pulls his head down for a final kiss. It’s wet, tastes of stale coffee, and practically thrums with desperation.

“Deliver me,” she mumbles against his lips, and then silently slinks out the door. Cesare waits for two minutes before he follows.

Exiting the bathroom, he groans when he spots a familiar redheaded green tea latte aficionado eyeing him from a corner. Rolling his eyes, he dutifully walks over to Micheletto and slumps into the easy chair across from him. To his credit, the other man says nothing.

“Thank you for your thorough surveillance of my life, but this isn’t exactly what I’m paying you for.”

“Isn’t it though?” Micheletto muses. “She seems nice. Does she know her husband is screwing one of his nubile female students while she’s off having ‘discussions’ with his T.A.?”

“Really? Honestly, I’m not sure.” Cesare gags slightly. Grabbing a napkin, he covertly fishes a rogue blonde hair out of his mouth.

If Micheletto is disgusted he doesn’t show it. Instead he just looks amused. “So this Ursula...she’s got nice hair, eh? A lot like your sister’s. Very pretty.”

Something dark coils deep in Cesare’s belly and he grimaces. “Yes. Very.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot! Thank you so much for your patience! Reviews and any fun ideas are always appreciated. If you would like to ask me any questions or get more immediate responses, feel free to check out my tumblr (linked in my profile)


	9. Chapter 9

Phase One of the True Love Waits tour is a whirlwind experience for Lucrezia. They move from city to city, spending every night in a new hotel and, though Gio is a constant source of fascination and amusement for her, she longs for the steady comforts of home and her family.

It’s the last night of the tour, right after the presentation. Though the whole experience has been strange and overwhelming, Lucrezia can’t deny the strange thrill she gets from their presentations.

The premise is simple. They roll into town and set up shop in a local arena. By three PM she’s in hair and makeup getting painted and prepped for her big speech. The presentation starts at six sharp with a performance by several minor Christian pop acts, followed by her and Gio’s impassioned advocation of celibacy. Then the pledge forms are distributed, the bands play a few more songs, and the night is wrapped up with a prayer led by executive director Angus Neil.

Of course that’s not the end of the night for Lucrezia. Many of the young attendees are absolutely euphoric at the end of the night and therefore want to meet the inspiring young speakers that changed their lives. Gio is just as sullen and dour at these meet and greets as he is in any social situation which places the bulk of the talking on Lucrezia. She doesn’t mind, of course, and is thrilled that so many of her peers seem to look up to her as a paragon of _something,_ even if that something is abstinence.

_So, I guess Juan and my father were right. This isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me._

The meet and greets are exhausting and usually last well into the night. This night’s final presentation was no exception; in fact the Nashville youth seemed extra eager to meet her after the performance was over.

She stares into her hotel room mirror, the pent up exhaustion from the last few days washing over her. Her face is drawn and pale from lack of sleep and her blonde curls are extra crunchy due to product build up. Grabbing a facial wipe from her toiletries bag, she starts the arduous task of removing her caked on makeup.

_KNOCK KNOCK!_

“Please go away, I’m wiping off my face,” Lucrezia yells at the door. She glances at her phone.

_12:47_

There’s another series of knocks. Groaning, she throws her dirty wipe into the garbage and storms over to the door.

“It’s almost one, why aren’t you aslee...” She trails off when she sees it’s Gio, fist raised to knock on the door again.

“Hey.” He slides past her into her room. Shrugging off his bright blue letterman jacket, he slumps down onto her bed and starts texting.

Lucrezia stands confused, still holding the door open. “What are you doing here?” she asks, suddenly hyper aware that she’s wearing only half a face of makeup.

Gio glances up at her and snorts. “Nice face. You look like the Phantom of the Opera or something.”

She raises up her hand and self consciously covers the remaining makeup. After checking the hall to make sure there’s no one watching, she kicks the door closed. “I was kind of the middle of something. What’s wrong with your room?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. I’m just bored. There’s nothing to do here.”

“It’s a hotel, what did you expect?” she hisses. “Okay, whatever. I just need to finish cleaning my face.” Snatching her package of wipes, she slips into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Her hearts pounds wildly. She’s never been alone in her room with a guy before (well, a guy she’s not related to) and she’s suddenly aware of an intense sick feeling that seems to be twisting her stomach into knots.

_Is this normal? Is this a sex thing?_

She gets the feeling, though not to this extent, every single time she’s with Gio. It’s a kind of uneasiness that she thinks is caused by some sort of magnetic fascination with his aloof nature. Lucrezia’s no psychologist but she does read a lot, and in most of her books the heroine initially unsettled by the hero’s brooding and intense stare.

Removing her makeup takes only a few minutes but Lucrezia wants to look at least halfway presentable before re-entering her bedroom. She runs damp fingers through her hair to revitalize her curls and also brushes her teeth and flosses. Satisfied with her appearance, she takes a deep breath and exits the bathroom.

“You look okay,” Gio grunts. He’s preoccupied with something on his phone. Lucrezia licks her lips and slides a little closer.

“You don’t really talk much, hey?”

“Nope,” he replies. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a point to talking a lot when you don’t have to.”

“I guess so.” Lucrezia plays with the hem of her skirt. Raising an eyebrow, Gio pockets his phone and slides closer to her.

“You know, you’re not like your family,” he observes.

Lucrezia wrinkles her nose. “How so?”

“Well you don’t talk all the time like your dad or brother. The idiot one,” he clarifies. “The one who wants to be a senator.”

“Juan’s not an idiot,” she says. Gio chuckles. “He just sometimes doesn’t think before he acts or speaks...well, I guess that is pretty stupid.”

“Just a little bit. So, yeah, you don’t blab all the time, which I guess is a point in your favour.”

“Thanks.” The weird feeling is still churning in Lucrezia’s stomach, but the newness of the situation keeps her planted on her bed. Here she is, Lucrezia Borgia, sixteen years old and having a conversation with a guy while they’re sitting unsupervised on her bed! Her heart flutters.

Cesare’s face pops, unprompted, into her head and her stomach turns again, but this time fills with a warm ache, a longing for the security and familiarity of her brother’s hugs and gentle words. She’s suddenly struck by the realization that this tour has been the first time she’s had a new experience without being accompanied by her brother. It seems so wrong and yet...   

_I suppose that’s growing up._

“Hey.” Gio slides closer to Lucrezia so that the sides of their legs touch. “So, you’re actually pretty hot. Like in a not slutty way too.”

The temporary warmth in her belly is sucked away and replaced with the nervous, sick feeling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His face is so close she can smell his toothpaste. “And you’re not super bitchy like other girls too. You’re really...good. And nice.”

His hand rests firmly on her knee.

“I wanted to tell you...you looked super hot when you did your speech every night. All innocent.” His expression is still sullen but something in his eyes flashes.

Lucrezia gulps, her heart pounding. “Yeah?”

“And you kept talking about purity and it just made me want to...”

_Boop BEEE doo, boop be doop! Boop BEEE doo, boop be doop!_

Gio pulls away. “What the fuck?”

“It’s Skype.” Lucrezia jumps up and shuts down the program. “It was my brother.”

Suddenly their situation seems really new and weird and awkward and she just wants to be alone to think about it. “Uh, it’s actually getting pretty late and we have a flight to catch tomorrow morning. I kinda want to go to bed. Sorry.”

“Are you asking me to leave?” Gio’s eyebrows raise. He takes a deep breath but then, as if he suddenly changes his mind, lets it all out in big gush of air. “Okay. I’ll go.”

He grabs his letterman jacket and swings it over his shoulder. Bending over, he pecks Lucrezia on the cheek before sauntering out the door.

Lucrezia lets out a large breath she didn’t know she was holding. She raises a shaking hand up to her cheek.

It feels like it’s burning.

***

As soon as he enters Starbucks, Micheletto grabs his customary green tea latte and makes a bee line for one of two empty easy chairs in the corner. Careful not to make eye contact with any other customers, he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through various social media platforms.

Cesare had texted him earlier promising some ‘unbelievable news’ that absolutely couldn’t wait. Bored to tears in his Borgia-funded hotel room, Micheletto jumped at the opportunity to get down to business in Louisville which, with the exception of Cesare’s new lady friend, was proving to be extremely dull.

 Unfortunately, his aloof manner is completely ignored by a cheerful redheaded young woman who places her frappachino down next to his latte and asks, “Hey, is this seat taken?”

He grits his teeth. “I’m waiting for a friend,” he manages to choke out.

Looking around the store in a comically exaggerated manner, the woman shrugs. “But there’s no other chairs, and your friend isn’t here yet.”

“That’s true.” Micheletto responds and then returns his attention to his phone.

She sighs and slumps into the chair next to him. “You know, I wish you guys weren’t such dicks all of the time. Your nose in a phone, can’t even talk to a friendly girl.”

He glares at her over the top of his phone. “Excuse me?”

“You guys. You know, _men._ Specifically men of a certain age. You’re all such dicks. A girl comes over trying to be all nice and friendly, and you turn her down. How is that not a dick move?”

“Miss, I honestly am waiting for a friend, and I’m sure he would appreciate a seat when he arrives. I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“But I didn’t just want the seat, I wanted to get to know you. A cute redheaded guy isn’t a common sight nowadays. We’re a dying breed, you know.”

“Ahhh, so is that what this is.” Micheletto places his phone down on the table and faces the woman. “Well, I’m deeply sorry. My name is Mike, nice to meet you.” He extends his hand and she shakes it excitedly.

“Awesome. Hey Mike, I’m Jenna.” She flashes a brilliant smile.

“Nice to meet you, Jenna. Do you attend school around here?”

She snorts. “Like at the Christian school? Hello no! I’m a part time waitress and full time party girl.”

His gossip-mongering plan ultimately foiled, Micheletto dons a syrupy sweet tone of voice and says, “Oh that’s nice. Unfortunately for you, Jenna, I’m not really into girls like you.”

“Uh.” Jenna’s mouth drops open. “What do you mean by girls like _me?_ Are you one of those fundie freaks from the school?”

Micheletto weighs his options. He could dismiss the girl abruptly and rudely, possibly cause a scene, and perhaps get banned from the Starbucks closest to his hotel. Sure it would be easy but the consequences are rather bleak. _Oh well, I suppose in this case honesty is truly the best policy._

“No, I’m not a fundie,” he responds. “The fact is, I’m really not interested in any girls at all. As in the whole gender.”

The realization dawns on Jenna’s face almost instantly. “Ohhhhhh. Oh God, that’s why you need the chair! Is the guy you’re waiting for a friend or a _friend f_ riend?”

“I didn’t even specify whether my friend was male or not but yes, you’ve guess it. He is a special friend, at least I hope he will be.”

She squeals quietly. “That’s so exciting! I’m so excited for you! Is he here yet?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact he is.” Micheletto spots Cesare cluelessly wandering around the crowded shop. “Cesare! Over here!.”

“Oh man, he’s _so c_ ute! I’ll get out of your way, okay? Good luck.”

Micheletto smiles an incredibly fake grin at Jenna as she leaves, taking her half full frappachino with her. Spotting the empty seat, Cesare bounces over.

 “Micheletto! I have great news!”

Quirking an eyebrow, Micheletto takes a sip of his latte and turns to face Cesare. “And what could that be?”

Looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, Cesare slaps down two plane tickets onto the table. “I’ve been invited to be the keynote speaker at the CNBC Conference in Vancouver next month! You get to come with me and visit your home!”

“Home.” Micheletto draws out the ‘o’ and lets the word hang there without any additional comments. Cesare looks perplexed.

“Aren’t you excited? You said that you haven’t been back in over ten years. Don’t you want to visit family and friends, go back to some favourite restaurants? Doesn’t your mother still live there?”

“She does, but I haven’t seen her in several years. I doubt she’d even recognize me.”

“Huh. Are you worried about your past catching up to you?” Cesare asks, a note of genuine concern in his voice. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, I just thought it would be really cool.”

“No, no, its fine. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cesare unsuccessfully attempts to wipe the worry from his face. “Because you’re my friend and, despite our mutual working agreement, I don’t want to put you in a position where you’re going to get into trouble with the law. Even if it is just the Canadian law.”

Micheletto snorts. “ Mounties. So, I suppose this is what friends do, eh? Meet each others’ parents and the like?”

“Well, you’ve met my parents...sort of.”

“I was employed to kill your parents. That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Hey.” Cesare claps a firm hand on Micheletto’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go. I highly doubt that there’s going to be any Canadians hiding in the bushes with axes waiting to kill me. I’ll be fine.”

Micheletto shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I’ll come along. It’s my responsibility, and I should go visit my mum.”

“I scared you with the whole Canadians in the bushes thing, right? Awesome!”  Cesare grins and turns to leave, but Micheletto grasps his wrist to stop him.

“I know I’ve been really cryptic,” he breathes. “And I know you’ve been okay with not knowing everything about me.”

 Cesare sits down again and places a reassuring hand over Micheletto’s. “All things considered, I think you’ve been pretty open, like about your dad and the cop and stuff.”

The other man closes his eyes tightly and nods.

“I have some really big secrets, secrets that not a lot of people know. I’ve held back so far but you...” he locks eyes with Cesare. “You deserve better than that. When we get a moment in Vancouver I’ll introduce you to my mum, show you where I was born...I’ll give you the whole story.”

“That mean a lot to me that you trust me enough to open up,” Cesare says.

His face cracks into a dazzling smile and Micheletto’s heart breaks just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your views, kudos, and comments! Please feel free to ask questions; I want to make sure I cover everything and ties up all my loose ends.
> 
> I am going to try to post every Tuesday (fingers crossed) but we'll see how that goe


	10. Chapter 10

It’s a depressing Monday afternoon at the Association headquarters, due mostly to the balding visage of Julian Della Rovere and his freshly produced YouTube ads touting his new offshoot organization ‘Families First.’ His ads mostly target young stay at home mothers and promote his new ‘family-friendly’ line of bible studies, devotionals, and family conferences.

It’s a direct jab at the Association and so far it’s working. 

“I still can’t believe that that _worm_ would be capable of something like this.” Rodrigo rubs his face and takes another long sip of coffee before continuing.  Ascanio Sforza called a private meeting several hours ago to discuss the matter, but the shock of it all has kept them talking in circles. “I always thought he was all bark and no bite.”

“We all did.” Ascanio offers a muffin to Giulia Farnese. She shakes her head and resumes taking notes. “Julian complained at _every_ company meeting about something or other. We all suspected that the Reverend kept him on payroll just to keep something like this from happening.”

“I wasn’t aware that he was off payroll,” Rodrigo says incredulously.

“He officially resigned last week, before I started,” Giulia explains. “His letter of resignation was never forwarded to you and went straight through Human Resources without any notice.”

“None of us noticed because it was uncharacteristically quiet of him. Also, I suspect he paid off several people in HR. The same people that ended up joining him at his company.”

 “’Families First?’” Rodrigo barks out a hoarse laugh. “He’s a single man with the personality and charisma of a wet toothbrush! What business does he have advising anyone about families?”

“That’s all well and good but the Tea Partiers are eating it up. Della Rovere’s got a lot of pull over at Fox News and they’ve been giving him tons of air time to promote it. I’ve heard he’s even planning a revival tour.”

“A REVIVAL?” Rodrigo spits. “But that’s our thing!”

“It _was_ our thing.” Ascanio pushes a file across the desk and flips it open. “Here are the numbers from the True Love Waits tour.”

Giulia peeks over. “They look...good?” she observes quizzically, confused about Ascanio’s dark expression. Rodrigo nods and pushes them back.

Ascanio sighs. “They are good. Attendance was way up, pledges were solid, there was even some substantial merchandise profit. However, no one is talking about it as a success. All of the right wing outlets are condemning it as an over-sexualized quasi orgy with salacious bands like ‘2Praise’ and ‘aTONEment’ and headlined by Rodrigo Borgia’s tawdry daughter. I mean, one night she wore something that exposed her knees!” He shakes his head. “The left is, of course, not talking about it at all except for the website jezebel.com which called it a ‘Self-Righteous Propaganda Parade of Slut-Shaming.’ Not our finest hour.”

Rodrigo leans back in his chair and rubs his temples. “So this is what it comes down to. Moderation isn’t good enough anymore.”

“I’d hardly call the Association ‘moderate,’” Giulia pipes in. “If I may say so, that is.”

Rodrigo laughs. “In this we show our moderation. Women are permitted to speak at my Association meetings.”

“Oh, how kind of you.”

Ascanio raises an eyebrow at Rodrigo before continuing. “I do agree with Miss Farnese. We’re hardly moderate as a whole. However, there isn’t even room for shades of gray in today’s society. Even mentioning the term ‘conservative’ makes the liberals accuse us of being racist Tea Partiers, yet we’re still too liberal for Fox News to support us. This has been creeping up on us for a while and Della Rovere was aware of it the whole time he was here.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a timid knock on the door. They all turn to see Vanozza poking her head into the office. “Rodrigo?”

“Vanozza!” Rodrigo splutters, standing abruptly. “What are you doing here?”

“You were supposed to meet me for coffee over an hour ago. You’re phone’s turned off and your secretary isn’t...why hello.”

She walks over to Giulia, hand extended. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Vanozza Borgia, Rodrigo’s wife.”

Giulia shakes Vanozza’s outstretched hand and smiles. “Giulia Farnese. I’m your husband’s new administrative assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Borgia.”

Vanozza turns back to Rodrigo. “Now what is so important here that you had to sequester yourself for almost three hours?”

“I’m so sorry for keeping your husband, Vanozza, but we’ve had a bit of an emergency here.” Ascanio tilts the computer screen in her direction. “Julian Della Rovere has had some free time on his hands and has apparently decided to start his own little organization. He’s already poached a few of our speakers and has Fox News backing him.”

“Oh, I see.” Vanozza pulls a chair over and sits down. “So what are you all going to do about it?”

“Vanozza, I hardly think it is appropriate for you to be here right now. This is private business,” Rodrigo says, shooing her away with his hand.

“...or maybe she’ll have some valuable insight for us.” Guilia smiles at Rodrigo and he is momentarily dazzled by the flash of her delicate white teeth and sparkling green eyes.

“Well, I guess another perspective may be helpful in situations like this. Vanozza, you may stay.”

Vanozza nods her head in her husband’s direction, but keeps her eyes trained on Giulia Farnese. The young secretary is tall, thin, redheaded, with clear green eyes that convey a sense of innocence. However, Vanozza is no fool. The way Giulia raises her eyebrows, flutter her lashes, even the way she hold her pen while she takes notes screams of sex and seduction.

This isn’t the first young nubile assistant to infringe on her marriage, and it most likely won’t be the last, but Vanozza will be _damned_ if she lets some twenty something child swoop in and attempt to steal her husband when he’s at the peak of his career.

So she waits. Watches as Giulia Farnese bats her eyelashes and bites her lip coyly while doodling little hearts around her meeting minutes. Watches Rodrigo steal glances at his pretty young secretary when he thinks no one will notice.

But she does.

***

Juan Borgia is having an absolutely excellent morning. His numbers are up, his night was... productive, and he had some absolutely amazing crepes for brunch. Also, with Cesare gone, he’s free to parade around the house with a smile on his face without old Mr. Grumpy Pants trying to bring him down.

Unfortunately as he passes Lucrezia’s bedroom he notices his sister staring at her computer screen with a look of utter despair on her face.

_Well, we can’t be having that now._

Putting on his best ‘big brother’ face, he pokes his head into her room. “What’s going on, Lucy? You don’t look good.”

She turns around and glares at him, a lone tear rolling down her cheek. “It’s none of your business _Juan.” S_ he spits his name as though it’s a curse.

Shaking his head, he kneels down next to her desk chair and places a reassuring hand on her arm. “Now, I know you’re not actually mad at me here. Tell me what’s up; I’m here to listen.”

Lucrezia rolls her eyes. “So _you’re_ here to listen but Cesare can’t give up five minutes of his precious time to Skype with me. What have I done to deserve this?”

“Nothing, sweet dear.” Juan attempts to contort his face into an expression of concern but, according to Lucrezia, he just succeeds in looking constipated. “Cesare has left home and is becoming a grown up, finally I might add, and unfortunately he can’t be available to you twenty four seven.”

“I don’t want to talk to him all the time, I just want to see him. He hasn’t talked to me in over three days! He’s never gone this long without talking to me!”

“Maybe he’s just busy.”

“Uggghhh.” She pushes his hand roughly off of her arm and slams the lip of her laptop closed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re not Cesare. He doesn’t get too busy for me.”

“Just because he’s never been too busy before doesn’t mean he ever will. Trust me about these things.”

“Why should I?”

Juan gives her a small smile and goes to sit on her bed. Tapping the spot next to him, he attempts his concerned expression again. She groans and sits next to him.

“You should trust me because I’m a guy and I understand what he’s going through. I went through the same thing, remember?”

Lucrezia is struck by an image of Cesare as a Juan-clone, swaggering into the house reeking of booze with a douche suit and two underdressed women on his arms.

“No, Cesare is different.”

Juan laughs. “No man is truly different, Lucy. You’ll learn that. Now.” He elbows her gently in the arm. “What did you need to talk with him about?”

“None of your business,” she grumbles.

Putting on an exaggerated pout, Juan mugs for his younger sister. Sure, he and Lucrezia have never been very close, but he still feels a kinship with her. Of course, this kinship is tempered by a little bubble of resentment deep in his belly, but he attempts to squash it for the sake of developing his relationship with his beloved sister.

“But it is my business. I’m your brother and I want to support you.”

“But you’re not...whatever.” She starts picking the nail polish off of her fingers. “So...there’s this guy...”

“Good God, Lucy, please don’t tell me you wanted to ask Cesare about your relationship issues. The longest relationship he’s ever had has been the one with his left ha...”Juan’s mouth hangs open.

_I guess I didn’t really think about how to end that statement appropriately._

Lucrezia just shakes her head and continues. “Awk-ward. Right. Anyways, there’s this guy and whenever I’m around him I just feel all weird inside. Like my skin’s crawling and I’m about to throw up. So what I’m saying is...well, you’re not my first choice, but I guess you do know a lot about guy and girl stuff...is this normal? Am I supposed to feel sick around a guy?”

Juan strokes his chin in a mock gesture of wisdom. “So, I’m assuming that you like this guy?”

“Well, yeah, he’s pretty hot.” She laughs. “And he does this thing where he pretends he doesn’t care, like how Cesare and Father act sometimes, but I know he really does like me. He always talks about how pretty I am.”

“Oh, well that’s a definite sign that he’s into you. And that sick feeling is totally normal, that’s just what attraction feels like for women. What else has he said?”

“He told me that I’m different.” She wrinkles her nose, a quizzical expression on her face. “I don’t know. The last time I saw him, he told me we should go out some time. Oh, and please don’t tell Father. He doesn’t want me to date until I’m, like, thirty.”

“He doesn’t really mean that. Father, I mean. Honestly, I think you should go for it. I’ll even help set up the date, if this guy really means that much to you.”

Lucrezia’s face lights up. “Are you _serious,_ Juan? You would set it up, like as a real date?”

A warm, glowing feeling starts building up in Juan’s belly. He turns his head to obscure the stupid grin that spreads across his face. It’s not that he’s craved love and attention from his siblings, it’s just that he’s always felt it unfair that they’re so generous with their affection for each other, and yet so stingy when it comes to him.

_I guess I’ve found an in here. Juan one, Cesare zero._

“Yeah, yeah.” He attempts to shrug off her enraptured stare like it’s no big deal, but she isn’t fooled.

“How would you do it? Like, would you really?”

 “Of course I would! I’m a man of my word! I know a couple guys who own a few clubs in town. I could cash you in, get you and your man into a nice club, you could go dancing.”

“I LOVE dancing!” Flinging her arms around his shoulders, she squeezes him tightly in an awkward sitting side hug. Juan hums, relishing the contact.

“And I love you, sis.”

“Love you too, Juan. Stupid Cesare.” She frowns at her computer. “Who needs him?”

Juan squeezes her back maybe a bit too tightly.

_Who needs him indeed?_

***

“Wow, that was...wow! Where did that come from?”

Cesare relishes in Ursula’s praise as she curls into the crook under his arm. “Let’s just say I’ve been inspired lately. I have a new muse.” He nuzzles her bangs with his nose and she laughs. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“Hey...what is this? Between us?”

She smiles and places a light kiss on his nose. “It’s whatever you want it to be, love. You’re free, I’m here. This could go on for as long as we want it to.”

“I guess it could.”

Ursula sighs and starts dozing. Cesare smiles to himself.

Ever since that fateful night in the Starbucks bathroom, he’s finally felt... at peace with himself. With his wants and needs and desires. Letting go while fucking was a bit like ripping off a band-aid; it hurt at first, but the relief he felt when he let his mind wander to where it wanted to go made him almost delirious. Moment by moment he creates new fantasies to replace his old tired ones and feels normal and clean, despite the fact that this relief comes from sleeping with his professor’s wife.  Finally he can grip blonde curls and worship pale smooth skin and feel free of guilt... _mostly._

The dark beast in his belly rears its ugly head. _It’s not the same and you know it. You’re marked...different. You can’t feel like everyone else because you aren’t everyone else. She won’t satisfy you for long...you crave something sweeter._

He silences it with a sniff of Ursula’s perfumed curls.

The comfort isn’t without some concessions. He hasn’t contacted Lucrezia in over a week now, which is the longest it’s ever been since they’ve talked. It feels both unnatural and necessary in light of his new relationship with Ursula. Unnatural in a sense because they’re _Cesare a_ nd _Lucrezia_ and have been bound at the hip ever since her birth and he still feels like a large piece of himself is missing when he’s apart from her. However, historically his lovely sister has been rather hostile towards his female companions, and what he has with Ursula feels special and different than anything from the past.

_I can’t screw this up. I’m just want to feel like this forever. Feel normal._

His heart starts pounding as he musters up the courage to ask his second question. “Hey. What about your husband?”

“Fuck Phil,” she mumbles, half asleep. “Fuck him up.”  


	11. Chapter 11

“UGGGGGHHHH, I HATE this place.”

Cesare shakes his head and smirks into his mug of tea. His lunch companion, freshman Maddie Tate, shoots him a death glare and resumes running her fingers through her streaked black hair.

“I’ll miss you guys,” she moans, fingering a few strands of indigo dyed hair.

“I can’t believe they told you your hair was immoral and sinful,” Cesare chuckles. “Oh wait. I totally can.”

“It’s just the fucking worst here. All these rules...I mean, we’re supposed to all be adults, but they still treat us like kids. No drinking, no movies over PG-13, no fucking ‘unnatural’ piercings.”

“Plus the whole ‘no fucking’ in general. Or even saying the word fucking.”

Maddie flings her hands in front of her as a dramatic gesture. “I KNOW right? Fuck. It’s just, ugh, my dad is totally unreasonable about everything. He says I have to go here, like there’s no other school in the state or even the country.” She adopts a low southern drawl. “Now child, you listen here. Our good Reverend went to that school and he became one of the Godliest men who’s ever been. If you go there...we’ll, I believe there’d be some hope for you yet.”

“He didn’t! Uncle Jake, what a guy.”

Nodding her head, Maddie takes another bite of her muffin. Cesare smirks to himself.

What started off as a favour to his father has actually become one of only a few distractions at seminary. Sure, he initially balked at being told to watch over his father’s friend’s daughter, likening it to glorified babysitting. However Jacob Tate was a family friend and there wasn’t much else to do, so Cesare obliged. He was surprised to discover that Maddie, despite being young and an ‘Association’ kid, was just as irreverent and frustrated as he was.

They meet up for lunch every Monday at a small cafe near campus. She’s tall and thin and not typically ‘alternative looking,’ save for the blue streaks in her hair as well as a few hidden piercings. Despite their age difference, Cesare enjoys her company and feels a sort of warm kinship towards her. Nothing sexual of course, just the pure warmth of platonic friendship.

_Like brother and sister. Except not fucked up._   

 “And you know the way it is, Ces.” She whips her hair over her shoulder. “You can’t just say ‘fuck off’ to these people. Their entire being is tied up in appearing perfect and having a perfect family with perfect little robot children. My one old friend from back home was just like ‘Why don’t you just tell your dad to shove it and come live out on the coast?’ And I was like, uhhhh, that’s not the way it works. He will literally tail me the entire way and drag me, kicking and screaming, back to Charlotte, all so that no one can accuse him of being a neglectful parent. But you totally get it, right? Uncle Rod is the same way.”

“And then some. He has this dream that I’m going to follow in his footsteps and take over the Association after he retires.”

“So, you don’t really want to be here either?”

Cesare pauses, choosing his words wisely. “I’m not...ungrateful for this opportunity. I know lots of people in this country go into tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt to get their PhD. It would be stupid of me to throw away the chance to be published and gain recognition, but never felt truly authentic doing this. This has never been _just_ my dream.”

“What is your dream then? Like.” She clenches her fist. “Something that is so pure and untouched by anyone else it makes you warm when you think about it.”

_The scent of salt air and wood in his nostrils. The security of his own house, job, hometown, money. The feel of soft curls running through his fingers._

He blinks. “I don’t honestly know. What’s your dream?”

“For now, my dream is simple. I want to get out of this hell hole and cut ties with my psycho dad for good.”

“Really.” Cesare leans forward. “How far are you willing to go?”

Maddie mirrors him, leaning in until their heads almost touch. “Far. Why? What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I have this crazy plan. If implemented correctly, we would both win. You would remove yourself inextricably from your dad’s righteous nut job plan, and I would...well, I would be happy, let’s just leave it at that.  It’s just...you would have to put yourself really out there, and I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, because I honestly don’t even really want to suggest this.”

“Oh my God, Ces, just spit it out! I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“It’ll involve having sex and taping it. Can you handle that?”

She laughs. “You talk like it’s something I’ve never done before. How will this be any different than my high school days?”

The small, sane part of his mind screams at him _NO DON’T DO THIS, SHE’S SO YOUNG, DON’T MAKE HER DO YOUR DIRTY WORK,_ but he shrugs it off. Pulling up the faculty webpage on his phone, he scrolls down and stops at a familiar face.

“So, this is Dr. Phil Bonar. He’s got a soft spot for young girls.”

***

Giulia is just finishing her daily scheduling and appointment booking when she hears a harsh “DAMNIT” from Rodrigo’s office. Rolling her eyes, she glances at the clock.

_6:37_

Inhaling a deep breath of stale air, she resigns herself to another long night at the office. She then brews a fresh cup of her boss’s favourite coffee and adds the usual, two creams and a sugar.

She pokes her head into his office. “Rodrigo? Are you okay? I’ve brought coffee.”

He spins his chair around dramatically. “Bless you, Giulia Farnese, for being the only person who hasn’t completely lost her mind in this fallen world.” After sucking back the scaling coffee in several large gulps, he motions for her to sit down.

“What’s gone wrong?” she asks.

He sighs. “Everything. I’ll start with the lease catastrophic episode. One of the professors at the seminary, _Dr. Phil Bonar_...” He spits the syllables out as if they were poisonous. “...has gotten caught on tape _sleeping_ with one of his _students_.”

“Oh my.”

“Indeed. And with one of my associate’s daughters, no less. We’ve managed to keep the media out of it so far, but then again I’ve _just_ been informed of it.”

Giulia nervously plays with one of her curls. “Do you have a statement prepared for when it does break?”

“I honestly can’t say. We could go the conventional route, like say he’s a sexual deviant and condemn his actions.”

“Wouldn’t that go without saying? I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

He sighs again, long and drawn out like a slowly deflating balloon. “There’s nothing wrong with it _per say_ , but there’s certainly nothing really redeeming about it either. The Association can condemn him all we like, but that doesn’t take back the fact that the seminary’s reputation is now irrevocably tainted. I mean the Reverend went to that school, he _made_ that school, and within weeks of his death there’s a sex scandal?”

She lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “God only burdens you with what he knows you can take.”

“Oh, but you’ve forgotten. This is the least frustrating thing that’s happened today. The first is...” He purses his lips and shakes his head. “It’s awful. David left the hospital today.”

“I...see.”

“He left the hospital, but did you see him around here at all? You were here all day. Did you see him?”

Taken aback by Rodrigo’s suddenly frantic questions, she wracks her brain for the right answer. “Um...no? Maybe he’s at home, recovering?”

“Pah! You would think that, wouldn’t you? Everyone thinks that, which is why no one suspected that he spent all day in meetings with Julian Della Rovere and the board of Families First!”

Rodrigo pushes his hand down firmly on his desk, propelling his chair backwards until it hits his bookcase with a dull ‘ _clunk.’_ Speechless, Giulia can only watch as he leaps out of his chair and starts pacing.

“And you may be thinking ‘Oh Rodrigo but you’re doing such a good job leading! All the publicity and _TIME_ magazine and everything! America loves you! Who needs David and his family and all of their baggage but NO it’s not just that!” He suddenly leans over the desk, shaking his fist in her direction. “They have been running this Association for over fifty years, Ms. Farnese! Fifty years and, while yes, there are many charitable organizations and donations managed by the Association, that family has also grown very personally wealthy over the last fifty years.”

He straightens up. “Tell me, Ms Farnese. How much of the Association’s operating budget from the past, oh let’s say five years, comes from donations from that particular family?”   

“I...I...I don’t know.”

“Forty seven percent.” He lets the number hang there for a few seconds before continuing. “And I know this because I worked the books for five years, pulling money from all over the place, trying to make ends meet. It was David who convinced the family to start pouring money into the Association, first as a tax break but also because we’ve been haemorrhaging money for years.”

“I don’t understand. If they founded the Association and it was the Association that was successful, why are they wealthy when the Association is now losing money?”

“Books. Book deals, book sales, book tours are all _personal_ income. Back then, back when people still read books, the Reverend’s book contracts were obscenely lucrative with ridiculous royalties. Now...I maybe get a few million from a book and tour. And if David’s jumping ship with all of his family money to Della Rovere and Families first, I don’t think I’ll have enough personal assets to keep the Association afloat.”      

He suddenly slumps down in his chair, his face showing his almost sixty years plus more. “These are desperate times, Giulia Farnese. And I’m becoming a desperate man.”

 ***  
“Bored, bored, boring, so boring...”

_Why doesn’t anything ever happen in this bumfuck city?_

Micheletto thumbs through his Facebook newsfeed nonchalantly waiting for Cesare to arrive at their customary Starbucks location. He’s registered under the name “Matt Roberts” and his profile picture is of an innocuously good looking brunette white male. His political views are “Moderate” and under “Likes” he has listed “Chocolate, GTA, Chick-Fil-A, and Golden Retrievers.” Essentially his goal was to create the most generic yet appealing fictional student in order to infiltrate the lives of the seminary student body, and it’s been extremely successful. While keeping a wary eye out for overly chatty young women, he focuses on several posts in a row written by freshman at the seminary.

_“Heard a prof was fired for sleeping with his students! ew”_

_“omg lisa told me prof bonar was fired today”_

_“Is it true that my Reformers prof was fired??? from sex tape???”_

“Micheletto!”    

Green tea latte in one hand, Americano in the other, Cesare sits down next to him, grinning from ear to ear. Micheletto takes his latte and sips.

“Well, someone looks pleased with himself. I wonder why.”

Cesare chuckles. “I take it you’ve heard the news.”

“It would be hard for me not to. It’s all over Facebook. The local news outlets haven’t quite picked up on it yet, but I suppose that’s due to the school hushing it up. Your father’s Association buddies probably have a hand in it.”

“Probably.” Cesare leans his head back and lets out a loud belly laugh. “I can’t believe he’s out of the way! I haven’t called Ursula yet, decided I’d give her some space.”

“Are you sure she’ll be happy about all of this? Having her husband outed as a philanderer can’t be good for her social status.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She told me to fuck him up...what did she expect? It’s not like I’m going to kill him!”

“Heh.” Micheletto shakes his head. “Yeah, that would have been something. So, how did you do it?”

Cesare smiles sheepishly. “It wasn’t really my doing. I just encouraged a friend of mine to sleep with him and gather some evidence... then present it to the board. She was totally okay with it because she wanted a way to distance herself from her father, who is friends with my father. Now Phil is gone for good, Maddie got to fulfill a part of her whole ‘student- professor’ fantasy that she’s had for a while and she’s gotten her dad off of her back for good.” He rolls his eyes.  “He’s written her off as a ‘demonic harlot.’ She’s thrilled.”

Micheletto’s face contorts into what Cesare assumes is his version of a smile. “I see. So he’s out of a job then...and you’re entirely removed from the situation. Have all of his indiscretions come to light?”

“Several of his former students have come forward. He’s basically been outed as a total perv and has been asked to step down. This being a Christian college, it is totally unacceptable for a prof to be sleeping with anyone who isn’t his wife.”

“I guess those fundies are good for something.” Micheletto says. “So where does that leave him and Ursula? On the outs...? I mean, he is unemployed and she has an excellent reason to leave him. I’m assuming that was the goal.”

“Yeah totally. It would have been a huge social faux pas for her to simply _leave_ him for me. This way she has an excuse. I figure I’ll lie low for a bit before we’re seen together in public.”

“Well congratulations. I’m...happy for you. I do have one concern though.” Scratching his fingers nervously through his facial hair, Micheletto lowers his voice. “Please pardon my question. You don’t have to answer and I’m really sorry if I upset you, but I just have to ask. Does it bother you that she _needs_ an excuse to be with you?”

Cesare waves off his question. “Not at all. You don’t know these people like I do. The fundie community is shame based, and if Ursula just left her husband she would be ostracised by all of her friends and family forever.”

“And you don’t think you’re worth that? Is she worth that to you?”

“Now you’re crossing a line.” Deep down, Cesare realises Micheletto has a point, but he squashes that revelation down along with his usual dark musings.  Sure, he and Ursula aren’t stereotypical ‘soul mates’ but he doesn’t need a soul mate to be happy. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

 ***

Lucrezia’s week passes by mostly without incident, and by the time Friday rolls around she is giddy with excitement about her date with Gio.  Juan has orchestrated the whole thing masterfully from the location to her alibi. According to him, her parents believe she is going to a ladies’ small group meeting lead by one of his younger friends. The two of them take off at ten to seven and he drops her off fifteen minutes later at the club with a wink and a hug.

She holds on a little longer than normal.

Pulling her away gently, he gives her a sympathetic look.

“Aw. You’re nervous about your first real date. What’re you worried about?”

She tugs at the hem of her skirt. “I don’t know. I just don’t want him to think I’m weird or awkward. What if we run out of things to talk about?”

“Luckily you won’t need to worry about talking for long. This club opens their dance floor quite early, and I’ve taken care of everything for you. You don’t need to worry about paying, about whether you know the music, about what wine goes with which food. I’ve picked it all out perfectly for you so that my little Lucy can have the most perfect first date ever.”

She briefly hugs him again. “Thank you so much. You’re the best.”

Juan’s heart swells. “You look beautiful. Call me later when you need to get picked up.” He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before driving away.

Heart pounding, Lucrezia walks up to the surprisingly quiet club and gives her name to the bored looking doorman.

“Borgia? Yeah, your guy is waiting for you inside. And hey.” The doorman leans over until he’s face to face with her. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Juan is a good buddy of mine, but there’s only so much I’ll do for him.” 

“I understand,” Lucrezia responds. Her voice shakes a little and the doorman looks concerned.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just...this is my first date ever.”

“Your first date, hey? What a way to start.” He claps her on the shoulder and ushers her inside.

Gio is sitting at a booth looking bored as ever. She waves at him and his eyebrows raise, just slightly.

“You’re late,” he snaps. “I’ve already ordered you a drink.”

Taken aback, she blurts out the first thing that pops into her head “What kind of drink is it?”

“It’s a mojito. Well...it was.”

She shrugs off his customary rudeness and focuses on the way his face flushes and pupils dilate when he looks at her.

“Do you like my dress?” she purrs and tilts her head coyly as his eyes run over her body.

“It fits you well.” He pats the booth next to him. “Come on. Let me take a closer look at it.”

***

By the time ten thirty rolls around, Lucrezia is already exhausted from dancing and is definitely starting to feel all the effects of the mojitos Gio keeps getting her. Grasping his arm for support, she slurs, “My head hurts. Can you take me home?”

Gio smiles, or at least bares his teeth, she’s not quite sure.

_Why am I so tired? I feel cold. Gio’s smiling! He never smiles. I must have done something right. I think I have to pee...where is my purse?_

“I think I have to pee in my purse,” she mumbles.

“Lovely.”

She paws at his chest. “Where is my purse?”

“I have your purse. Here, let’s get you up.” Hoisting her up under her arms, Gio drags her through the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor. They pass the doorman, who shoots them a quizzical look but says nothing.

Gio opens the backseat of his car and lays Lucrezia down on the bench, bunching his jacket up under her head like a pillow. Getting into the driver’s seat, he tosses her purse in the passenger side and backs out of the parking lot.

As Gio drives her home, Lucrezia ponders the events of the night. She remembers dancing, lots of dancing, eating an absolutely amazing chocolate mousse, drinking mojitos for the first time, feeling wanted and beautiful...a warm feeling fills her belly.

“Hey Gio.”

“Hmmm?”

“Tonight was perfect,” she groans.

Gio chuckles. “Tonight isn’t over yet.”  

_Maybe he’ll give me a goodnight kiss._ She smiles to herself.

They’ve been driving for quite a while when she notices something strange. The city lights outside of the car have gotten progressively dimmer over the past few minutes. Ignoring her pounding headache, she hoists herself up so that she can peek out of the window. All she can see are evergreen trees and the faint twinkling lights of the city far behind them.

_Where am I?_

“Gio?” She asks, masking her concern with a nervous giggle. “Are we lost?”

“Not at all. Actually, we’ve just arrived.” He abruptly stops the car and gets out of the car. While he circles the vehicle, Lucrezia feels that same sick, nervous feeling from before, but this time it’s a hundred times worse. He opens the backseat and slides inside.

“What’s wrong with your face? You’re not going to puke, are you?”

She shakes her head. Even after she stops, her head keeps spinning. “No. I just don’t know what’s going on. I think I had too much to drink.”

“What’s going on is I’m making sure we have a perfect night.” He speaks slowly as if he’s talking to a child. “You said you wanted a perfect night, right?”

He leans in closer. She can smell the musky scent of his cologne mixed with a sharp tang of alcohol. She holds up her hand. “Wait. What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “My God, do you ever shut up?”

She’s about to respond when suddenly he’s on top of her, pinning her down with his much larger frame. Smashing his face against her, he pries her mouth open with his tongue and starts licking the inside of her mouth, spreading that acrid alcoholic taste until she feels like she’s suffocating. He grabs her wrists with one of his large hands and yanks her arms above her head, thrusting her hands against the door hard enough to leave a bruise. Pulling and ripping at the delicate top of her dress, he crudely tugs her bra down and starts enthusiastically kneading her breasts. He groans into her mouth and, right then and there, Lucrezia wishes she were dead.

_Too fast, what’s happening, he can’t really...that’s not what this is Lucrezia, it’s okay._

He pulls back his mouth long enough to take a breath. She manages to let out a broken “please...” before he claims her again.

_It’s not supposed to be like this,_ she chants in her head when she feels his hand start to grab at her underwear.   _You’re supposed to be sweet and kind and wait until I’m ready and cuddle me and make me feel loved and respected and safe and warm and..._ she chokes a sob into his mouth when he touches her _there, t_ he first man to touch her there and it’s hard and rough and cold but it burns too.

_It wasn’t supposed to be you, it’s never supposed to be you, that isn’t yours, that’s not for you, no more, please, I promise I’ll be better, oh please stop, please please please please pleasepleaseplease just stop._

***

Vanozza stares at the grandfather clock in the living room, a grumpy look plastered on her face. It’s eleven forty-five, and Lucrezia’s “small group” was supposed to have ended almost three hours ago.

She knows it’s a date, but Rodrigo’s been far too stressed and dense to protest with her so, despite her misgivings, Lucrezia was given her father’s blessing to attend this so called _Bible study_ dressed in a tiny black dress and chauffeured by a grinning Juan.

Her phone suddenly chirps and Lucrezia’s smiling face appears on her screen. Vanozza quickly answers.

“Where ARE you, young lady?” she barks. “You were supposed to be home over two hours ago!”

There’s a sniff from the other end. “ _I’m sorry, Mama. I’m out of town, south on highway 16 I think.”_

“What in God’s name are you doing there, Lucrezia? I’ve been worried sick!”

There’s a hesitant start of an answer before Lucrezia bursts into tears on the other end. Vanozza melts and grabs her keys and sweater.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just slow down. Are you okay?” 

“ _I...I don’t know.”_ She pauses, and Vanozza’s heart leaps into her throat. “ _Mama, please come, help. I’ve made a mistake.”_

     

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Cesare paces nervously in the library parking lot, checking for Ursula every few minutes. The autumn breezy is surprisingly chilly at this time of night and he unfortunately forgot to bring a coat. Unable to hold still any longer, he chews at the little piece of skin on the side of his thumb.

She called him right after class and sounded...well, he’s not sure if normal is the right word for it. Their correspondence is usually done in breathless and hushed tones, so her matter of fact “I would like to see you tonight,” was a bit unnerving.

Sure, maybe it was naive of him to think that she would be ecstatic about this whole business with her husband, but at the same time she did tell him to quote “fuck him up” unquote, so he really doesn’t see why she would be surprised when her husband was ‘asked to step down’ only a few days after. It’s not as those he truly messed up Dr. Bonar, hell, he didn’t even lay a hand on the man.

And he certainly didn’t have him killed, even though Micheletto was no doubt willing.

“Cesare.”

Ursula appears around the corner, her head hung low. She’s wearing a long black coat and, despite the late hour, a pair of oversized vintage sunglasses. Resisting the urge to embrace her, Cesare casually leans up against the exposed brick wall of the library, hoping his nonchalant body language masks his nervousness.  

“So.” She slides her sunglasses off of her nose and rests them in her blonde curls. “No doubt you’ve heard by now that Phil was asked to step down because of an... _infraction_ with one of his students.”

Her eyes seem to bore holes in his face with their intensity.

“I have,” he replies, trying to maintain his casual attitude.

“I assumed as much. Because of this, I’ve decided to move back home to Ireland and stay with my parents.”

“You’re WHAT?” Cesare bursts out, but Ursula silences him with a wave of her hand.

“You honestly didn’t expect me to stay after all of this? The media would tear me apart...the American press is vicious! I just feel like this whole experience with you and Phil and this school has been really damaging to my spiritual well being. I need some time to recharge.”

Rubbing his face with one of his hands, Cesare tries to compose himself, but already his blood is boiling in frustration. “How much time?”

She doesn’t answer, but he can tell her answer by the way she fidgets with a lock of hair.

“You’re not planning on coming back, are you?”

“Well, you can’t just expect me to stay here!”

“Can’t I?”

She laughs harshly. “Cesare, just be honest with me. Did you have anything to do with this?”

An uncomfortable pause sinks between them as he weighs his options.

_I suppose if she’s pretty set on leaving...the truth would be appropriate. But maybe it would send her over the edge..._

He decides to try playing it safe. “Come on, Ursula, how could I have had anything to do with the fact that your husband has been sleeping with his students for over five years? I haven’t even been here for five years.”

“Oh my _God,”_ Ursula spits. “Did you think I was stupid or something? I knew that he was having affairs with those girls, and that’s why I always went out on Thursday nights. That was just his thing.”

“His _thing_? Like that’s just a thing that regular people do? Having sex with random co-eds is a hobby now, like knitting and shit?”

“Powerful men do it, Cesare. Don’t act like your Father has never had an affair with any of his pretty young secretaries. They all do it and one day you’ll do it too. The power goes to their heads, and their wives put up with it because of the money and the status. Now tell me.” Her face softens. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

His face falls. “I may have had _something_ to do with it.” Faced with her furious glare, he raises his hands in frustration. “But you told me that you wanted out. You said to deliver you! You wanted me to fuck him up! What did you expect?”

“I...I don’t know. I was tired; I didn’t really think it through. I thought you wouldn’t remember! I didn’t expect that you would send him to jail!”

“To jail? No! What are you talking about? He was just asked to step down!”

Ursula bursts into frustrated tears. “You _asshole._ Two of the girls that stepped forward, they testified that he had had sex with them when they were under eighteen. Because he was in a position of authority, that’s considered sexual abuse. He didn’t just break the school’s moral code, he broke the _law_! I just wanted to have some fun, but now all I’m going to be known as is the wife of a fired pedophile!”

A long, tense silence follows her outburst. Cesare awkwardly chews on his lip while Ursula sobs, mulling over his options in his head. Making up his mind, he pulls her into a firm hug. “You’re so much more than that to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be here for you. I’ll deliver you, like I said. We can get through this.”

Pulling out of his arms, Ursula backs up far enough to slap him across the face. “You delusional, psychopathic  _fuck._ Are you honestly deluded enough to think that you were anything more than a quick fuck for me? Sure, you have a hot body and a pretty face, but Phil was a _god_ here and who are you? The second son of a sorry excuse for a televangelist. You’re nobody compared to him.”

“I...” Cesare resists the urge to grab her wrists and pin her to the wall, aware that another sexual harassment case is _just_ what the seminary needs right now. Instead, he fixes her with his most determined stare and smirks in satisfaction when she shrinks back.

“You’ll be sorry. I swear to God, _you will be sorry.”_ His blood is pounding in his ears and he’s about to do something he going to regret when Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ interrupts him. Taking a deep breath, he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

“Yes Mother?”

_“Cesare you need to come home again, quickly. Something’s happened.”_

Out of the corner of his eye, Cesare notices Ursula slink away. He groans and attempts to wave her back but she gives him the finger and escapes. “Mother, I can’t just keep running back home every time you need help with something. Can’t Juan do anything about it?”

_“Cesare I’m serious. You need to come home.”_

There’s a long pause.

“ _There was an...incident with Lucrezia.”_

Cesare’s blood runs cold. His voice lowers. “What happened to Lucrezia? Is she okay?”

Vanozza sniffs. _“I...I wanted to wait to tell you in person but...it’s best that you know now. Cesare...Lucrezia was raped. By Giovanni Sforza.”_

The rest of her words are drowned out the by roar in Cesare’s ears. His hands start shaking uncontrollably as he abruptly hangs up on his mother and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

The air suddenly feels cold and heavy in his lungs. He chokes out a sob and grasps for purchase against the worn brick wall in front of him. For a moment he blacks out, there’s so much pressure in his body, behind his eyes, in his ears. All of a sudden all of the dark feelings he’s harboured for years threaten to spill out of his body like blood flowing from a wound; all of the frustration, worry, lust, impulses, temptation, they swim around in his head, overwhelming him.

An inhuman sound erupts from his mouth and echoes down the alley. He feels like he’s going to vomit, collapse, _cease functioning._ The ground looks so comfortable, so inviting...the world is spinning.

_No. Stop that right now. This isn’t the time._

He sucks in a breath of cool air and straightens up. Mechanical and precise, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Micheletto.

 “ _Yes?”_

“I need you to find that son of a bitch Gio Sforza,” he says, his voice taking on an almost uncanny robotic tone. “Find him and tie him up and hide him somewhere, I don’t care where, just as long as no one can find him until I get there.”

There’s a brief pause. “ _I understand.”_

“Oh, and Micheletto?”

_“Yes?”_

“Keep him alive and healthy. I have a lot of plans for him.”

***

 Cesare calls a cab to take him to the airport, not trusting his shaky hands and blurry vision to get him there in one piece. Once there he catches a flight, _any flight,_ back home, clothing and toiletries be damned. He arrives in Charlotte and is promptly whisked away by one of the family’s hired drivers to the hospital where Lucrezia is being treated.

The entire process is so fast that Cesare hasn’t even begun to process the event, hasn’t begun to formulate the appropriate ways to react in such a situation. The shock of the announcement has long fizzled away leaving him exposed like a raw nerve. When he’s unceremoniously dumped off at the hospital emergency room he reacts instinctively, eyes wildly searching for someone, anyone.

  _Juan._

Cesare races over to his brother who appears to be chatting up a young nurse.

“Juan, where is she?” he spits.

Juan looks affronted and politely dismisses himself. Raising a hand to Cesare’s shoulder, he guides his brother over to a quieter corner of the emergency room.

“I’m sorry, _what_ would you like to know?”

Cesare is ready to burst. “LUCREZIA, Juan, WHERE IS SHE?”

Juan licks his lips slowly and shrugs. “I’m not sure, actually. They took her away to a room somewhere. Mother told me to stay behind and wait for you.”

“SOMEWHERE? Juan, are you fucking...ugh.” Cesare rubs his eyes with his hands until his entire field of vision is full of multicoloured spots.

“Cesare calm down, seriously. She’s going to be okay.”

“How can you say that? ‘She’s going to be okay.’ You have no fucking idea what she’s been through and what she’s going through right now!.”

“Hush now. People are starting to stare.”

Cesare feels about ready to strangle his brother in frustration, but fortunately he notices his parents approach followed by a third stranger in a lab coat.

“Cesare.”

Vanozza hugs him desperately, squeezing him harder than she’s ever done before.  Inhaling deeply, Cesare breathes in the scent of home, so comforting amidst the oppressive sterility of the hospital. She pulls away and kisses him firmly on the forehead.

“I’m so happy you’re here.”

“ Had to come, mama,” he manages to make out. His mother’s worried face is making his stomach roll. “Where is she?”

“She’s currently getting examined,” the lab coat wearing stranger interjects. Cesare turns on her, eyes ablaze.

“Cesare, Cesare, it’s okay.” Rodrigo holds out a hand to his son’s chest. “This is Dr. Katherine Chau. She’s a family therapist and would like to ask us a few questions first.”

“Your son, right?” Dr. Chau gives Cesare a small smile and pulls a brochure out of her coat pocket. “Cesare, how are you feeling right now? This can be a very hard time for elder siblings; your protective instincts are probably running wild right now.”

“You have no idea,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Where is my sister?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment. First I would like for you to read this pamphlet. Take your time, and when you’re finished feel free to ask me questions.”

Cesare’s about to tell the therapist just WHERE she can shove her pamphlet when Juan comes bounding over. “Hey Cesare! I just found out from one of the triage nurses that Lucrezia is in a private room at the end of the hall in emergency.”

Dr. Chau glares at him wide-eyed, but Cesare is already running.

“Please, Mr. Borgia, just wait a moment. Sir, OUUFFF.”

Cesare pushes the therapist right into Juan and storms through the doors into the emergency wing. He scans the bustling crowd of doctors, nurses, injured parties for a flash of golden hair, creamy skin, red lips.

He’s been here before, felt these feelings once before. Desperation. Mania. Sorrow. Worry. Not in this particular hospital, of course, but the universal scent of disinfectant, latex, and death, it brings him back.  
***

_“Come closer, Cesare, it’s okay. You won’t catch anything.”_

_The sight of his sister, his other half, his angel lying in a hospital bed stirs something dark in young Cesare’s belly. Everything is heightened: his senses, his heartbeat, even the colors of the room seem oppressive._

_Rodrigo’s face swims into view in front of him, jarring and wrinkled. His black eyes look concerned._

_“The doctors say that we have nothing to worry about, that it’s just the chicken pox. She’s just having a bit more of a reaction than the average seven year old, that’s all.”_

_Chicken pox, that’s all. Cesare wants to scream at the doctors, wants to throttle them until they understand. It can’t just be chicken pox, she was dying. Fell into his arms and vomited up everything in her little body until all that was left was bile tinged with blood. It still stains his shirt; Mother wanted him to change but he refused. He had to see her, had to be there just in case she..._

_“Cesare.”_

_He’s at her side in an instant._

*** 

 _Lucrezia, Lucrezia, Lucrezia, lucrezialucrezialucrezia_ is his mantra. His blood pounds in his ears, almost drowning out the faint sound of...

“...and yes, there, it was...there...awful...”

He pushes through a door and there she is.

All of her.

Naked.

The medical examiner and the police officer yell in horror and attempt to drag him out of the room, but he fights like a rabid dog, all while memorizing her, examining her for the injuries that Sforza bastard inflicted on her. He tries to be clinical, but the damage is done, the shock has permanently etched her nude form into his brain. All he can see is _her,_ soft, beautiful, even more gorgeous than he had ever imagined in the darkest recesses of his mind. For a moment, he meets her eyes and that’s when his soul breaks into a million pieces _because he sees it_. The exact same cocktail of emotions: anger, fear, shock, with animalistic magnetism  running through the middle.

He goes limp as the doctor and officer drag him out the door.

“Wait.”

Glancing up, he sees Lucrezia grab a sheet and wrap it around her chest.

_Her perfect, pert breasts, full and soft and smooth with erect pink nipples._

She slides her legs off of the bed.

_Exposing a generous swath of shapely thigh and calf, and the rounded curve of her ass, so biteable, lickable._

Gingerly, she walks towards the tree of them until she is face to face with the officer, and Cesare is face to face with

_Her pussy, hidden under a thin thatch of sandy blonde hair, her womanhood, her sacred place covered in just a thin sheet._

“Miss Borgia, please.”

“No, it’s okay. He’s my brother, he’s just worried about me.”

The officer and medical examiner exchange terse looks before letting Cesare unceremoniously droop onto the floor. He lunges for her feet, desperate to touch her, to reassure himself that all this is real, is happening, _has happened._

“Okay, Miss Borgia, but we still haven’t finished your kit and examination, and I’m afraid we are unable to leave you two alone at the moment. Standard protocol.”

Lucrezia squats down. “Of course, I just need a minute.”

He’s shaking now, his entire body spasming with the effort of keeping himself together. Everything is swimming in his head, visions of Gio Sforza’s smug bastard face, of seven year old Lucrezia lying pale and scared in her hospital gown, of current Lucrezia’s flushed face when he saw her just now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, clutching her sheet like a lifeline.

She grasps his chin firmly in her fingers and pulls his head up to face her. “Shhhh, it’s okay, we’re okay.”

The irony of his sister having to comfort him during this time is not lost on Cesare. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t save you, I...I...I love you _so much.”_

“Hey.” She pins him with a stare so raw and desperate that it temporarily quells his brewing emotions. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Now’s not the time. I need you to be strong for me.” Her face softens, and he sees _that look_. “I love you too,” she whispers.

He crumples onto the floor as she walks back to her bed. Vaguely aware of the medical examiner resuming her questions to Lucrezia, he stares at a chipped patch of linoleum for what seems like hours.

A firm hand rests on his shoulder. “Cesare,” his mother murmurs, her breath ghosting over his ear. “Let’s leave your sister for now. Let them finish the questions in peace.”

“No no no no no Mama , I can’t, please _please_ , I can’t leave her.”

“Cesare.” She lowers herself down to his eye level. “That wasn’t a request.”

“No, Mama, I want him here,” Lucrezia pipes up. “Come sit here, brother. By my side.” She gestures to the plastic chair next to her bed.

Breath catching in his chest, Cesare wills his body into an upright position and drags himself to the chair. He grasps Lucrezia’s hand tightly as the examiner does a few more tests under the sheets. Seemingly satisfied with what she’s found, the doctor pulls her gloves off and gives Lucrezia a soft smile.

“All done here, Miss Borgia. I’ll just get you some emergency contraception, and then we’ll be finished.”

Rodrigo pokes his head through the doorway and clears his throat conspicuously. “Ahhh, no. Lucrezia will not be receiving those pills.”

The doctor looks scandalized. “With all due respect Mr. Borgia, emergency contraception is the preferred route in these situations.”

“My daughter will not be having any of your abortion pills, Doctor, and that’s that. She’s under eighteen and therefore still under my care, and our family doesn’t believe in such things.”

“But Father,” Cesare begins, but is silenced by a glare from Rodrigo. He shakes his head furiously and starts muttering while he strokes his sister’s hand. “We can get a waiver for you sis, we don’t need them, it’s okay.”

“No, everything is fine,” Lucrezia replies. Her voice is strong and clear. “I mean, we always talk about trusting God and how we believe that everything is in his hands. If I’m...pregnant...then I suppose I’m supposed to have the baby.”

“Oh, my angel!” Rodrigo croons.  “You are indeed a true child of our Lord.”

Cesare sucks in a deep breath. “But we’re still prosecuting this guy, right? He can’t get away with this.”

“It’s so much more complex than that. Excuse us please.” Rodrigo shoos away the doctor who gives Cesare a wide eyed insistent stare before leaving.

Taking Cesare by the shoulder, Rodrigo leads him outside of the confines of the curtain. He lowers his voice. “Of course you know that Caterina is a major contributor to the Association.”

“This is about _money?”_

“Hush son.”

“Will people please stop telling me to be quiet? I am TIRED of us just being accessories for you and the Association!”

Cesare feels about ready to tear out his hair in frustration. He’s never felt more impotent in his life. Ursula’s rejection coupled with Lucrezia in a hospital all enhanced by the fact that his father keeps insisting on dominating him in every aspect...it’s almost enough to make him snap.

Almost, until he catches a glimpse of his sister’s flushed and anxious face over his father’s shoulder and his resolve breaks like a twig. She’s chewing her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’s kept from childhood that indicates she’s trying to make a tough decision. Catching her eye, he tries to smile but instead gives her an awkward grimace that makes her wrinkle her nose in confusion.

“Cesare? Cesare, are you even listening to me?”

His attention snaps back to his father. “Of course.”

“Good. As I was saying previously, we need to handle thing situation delicately so we don’t upset Caterina unnecessarily. You must understand, your sister is my number one priority, but we can’t be brash about these things and go flying off the handle.”

Cesare nods, but his mind is occupied elsewhere. He fantasizes about pushing his father aside, scooping Lucrezia up sheets and all, and driving off to who knows where. He imagines sticking pins under Gio Sforza’s fingernails before slowly filing off his various appendages, to make him suffer like how Lucrezia suffered. He thinks of the many ways he could humiliate Ursula Bonar, to make her feel his rejection and embarrassment.  

He plans for many things, each more insane and elaborate than the previous. His animal side is hungry for blood and justice, but his rational side is warning him _not yet, not yet, not quite yet._

Not quite yet. But he can wait.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The siblings are reunited under less than ideal conditions! Thank you to everyone who had read, kudo-ed, and reviewed. You all genuinely make my day :)


	13. Chapter 13

“Cesare?”

Waking abruptly from his nap, Cesare quickly lifts his head off of its position at Lucrezia’s bedside and immediately regrets his hastiness. He moans, clutching his temples as the head rush renders him temporarily blind. He’s only been at the hospital for a few hours, but it already feels as though several lifetimes have passed as his family waits for her to get released. Rubbing his eyes, he faces Lucrezia, who is staring wistfully at the wall across from her bed.

“Huh?”

“Have you ever had an out of body experience?”

“No, I can’t say I have. Did you? When...it happened?”

She nods. “Yeah. I mean I was there when he grabbed me but after that...it felt like I had died. I was floating above my body. I could _see_ what was happening to me, what he was doing, but I couldn’t feel anything. It was like it was happening to someone else and I was just watching, but it was my body, my face.”

“Lucrezia,” he breathes, reaching for her hand. She yanks it back.

“When he ... _finished,_ ” she chokes over the word. “I came back into my body, only it didn’t feel like mine anymore. I didn’t fit anymore, something was different. Even now... it feels like someone has broken in and moved everything over just an inch. I know I should feel normal, but everything is different, and it’s so hard to explain. It’s almost imperceptible...but I guess it’s just the knowledge that he stole my body from me. The one thing that I’m attached to for life...he stole it and wrecked it, and now I just feel powerless and trapped in my own body. I feel like it’s betrayed me.” Wiping a stray tear from her face, she laughs harshly. “I’m sorry, I probably don’t make any sense.”

“You don’t have to make sense,” Cesare breathes. Tentatively, he reaches for her hand again. She squeezes his, her nails biting roughly into his knuckles. “You don’t have to worry about making sense. Just let it all out, I’m here to listen.”

“But I can’t let it out,” she responds, her voice starting to rise frantically. “I try to talk to people, you, that weird therapist lady, but whenever I try I just freeze up. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Sometimes I’ll even forget what I wanted to say right before I say it!”

“It’s just your brain’s way of protecting itself.”

“But I don’t want it to!” She clutches her head in her hands, fingernails scraping at her scalp. “One half of me doesn’t want protection at all. I just want to go on living my life the way it was before, but this other side of me, this broken messed up side...it just wants me to curl into a corner and die.”

Cesare is aghast. “Please...don’t...” he mumbles, aware that he sounds like a total imbecile. She laughs.

“I’m not going to _kill myself,_ brother,” she says with distain. “Then he would win.”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers mostly to himself. He squeezes her arm gently, wary of any negative reaction but Lucrezia has already spaced out again, seemingly distracted by the episode of “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” that’s muted on the room’s television.

He had read about this sort of thing in the pamphlets given to him by the head doctor. “ _Disassociation is a very common side effect,” s_ he had warned him right after her first talk with Lucrezia. “ _Try to engage her in conversation and make sure she is very aware of you listening to her speak. She needs a good human connection.”_

He’s not sure if he’s the best example of a ‘human connection,’ whatever that means, but if there’s one thing he does know, it’s Lucrezia.

“Sweetheart...”

She abruptly turns her head to face him. Her face is still blank, but her eyes flash with pent up anger. “He called me that. When he did it. He called me that with his stupid way of talking.” Without another word, she returns her attention to the show.

Cesare’s already battered heart tears in two again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault,” she replies in a cold monotone voice.

“But I must,” he maintains, undeterred by her lack of reply. “I’m your older brother, I should have been there to protect you.”

“Don’t be stupid. You were in Kentucky.” She sighs. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I know.”

“Then stop talking. You’re just making it worse.”

He shuts his mouth and lets his head fall back onto her bed. It’s not that he feels sorry that he wasn’t there...well, he does wish that, but that’s beside the point. He’s truly sorry that everything is tainted for her now. Every tiny thing that she used to enjoy, a friendly touch, a loving nickname, it’s all tainted with the stink of _him,_ and there’s absolutely nothing Cesare can do about it. Everything has been tainted.

Even things she hadn’t enjoyed previously.

Thinking about Gio Sforza touching his sister’s naked body and being her _first_ makes Cesare’s blood boil and his fists clench involuntarily. That dark, sick voice in his head starts hissing dreadful things into his ear, things like _kill him, he deserves it, he broke her, used her, this is your duty, make him pay for what he did._

_Make him pay for taking your place. You were supposed to be her first._

No. He cracks his eyes open and looks around the room, paranoid that someone may have overheard his thoughts. Naturally, the room is devoid of thought police. All he sees is stark hospital bed sheets and Lucrezia watching the Kardashians do something shallow and stupid on the television. She’s also crying softy to herself, the tears falling freely from her fatigue-swollen eyes.

He sits up. “Lucrezia?”

“What?” She turns to face him and doesn’t even attempt to wipe her tears or mucous of off her frowning face.

Pulling several tissues from a box on the bedside table, Cesare stands up and pats the mattress. “May I?”

Both the therapist and her pamphlets were very clear. _“All physical touch should be initiated or consensented to by the patient. Be calm and intentional with your movements and never attempt to suddenly touch or embrace the patient.”_

Lucrezia bites her lip and nods tentatively. Sliding gently onto the bed, he holds the tissues to her nose and attempts to clean her up.

“No.”

She yanks them from his hand and throws them onto the floor before pushing him back against the bed and burying her face into his chest, sobs shaking her body. Cesare is stunned only slightly but automatically falls into his position as the comforter and the big brother.  They’ve assumed this position before, but never before has the pain been so palpable and the damage been so deep and permanent.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’ll never let you go, I promise,” he murmurs, dropping feather light kisses into her hair. His chest feels tight like there’s a monster trying to escape from his body, but he reigns it in for now, tempered by the wetness of his sister’s tears.

They stay like this for quite a while, at least until the sunlight starts to creep through the closed curtains of the hospital room. Eventually Lucrezia’s wails and cries slow to a more subdued moaning before finally ebbing away into nothing but a few sporadic shudders. Cesare still holds onto her, even though the hours spent holding her at this awkward angle will no doubt result in a pain in his neck for the next few days. He tells himself it’s for her, but...

Periodically Vanozza pokes her head through the door but always respectfully bows out when she sees Lucrezia still balled up in Cesare’s arms. Rodrigo and Juan are, thankfully, nowhere to be found, probably dealing with the PR fallout of this whole disaster. Cesare doesn’t know how he would react to seeing Juan try and spin this into a positive learning experience, especially in the light of Lucrezia’s involvement with True Love Waits and the Association.

He feels her take in a large gulp of air and attempt to steady her weary lungs.

“Cesare?”

“Yes, my love?” he mumbles into her hair.

She sighs. “Now that’s one he didn’t take.”

“Good. If he had, I would have had to go take it back from him.”

“Heh. Too bad that’s not how it works. You can’t take back everything he stole from me.”

Cesare’s stomach flips again, but he steadies it. “Yes. What was it you wanted to ask me, love?”

“Just this.” She straightens up, wincing at the sunlight through her red rimmed eyes. “Why is it that, with all our money, with Father moving us around, with all the power and influence our family has...” She trails off for a bit before finally formulating her thoughts. “I loved it back home, in our house by the ocean when we were just the Borgias down the road. And then Father had to uproot us and stick us here in the middle of nowhere. And I loved being with you and hanging out and just living with my family, but then you had to go to school and Juan has to go become the worst politician ever and ruin everything. And I loved my school and my classmates, but that wasn’t enough, and Father made me go on the stupid True Love Waits tour. And then I met _him_ and I liked him Cesare, I really did! But he turned out to be a jerk and well...”

They both sit in silence for a few unbearable moments, punctuated by the constant _ticking_ of the cheap clock hanging on the hospital room wall. Cesare stares at a small hole in his pants, no doubt acquired during his frantic scramble to Charlotte last night. Lucrezia follows his stare to the hole and immediately sticks her finger into it and pulls. It’s annoying and ends up enlarging the hole so that some of his leg hair pokes out, but it makes Cesare’s heart swell because it’s _what she always does._

“What I’m trying to say is,” she mumbles as she works her finger around the hole until the edges are frayed. “Why am I never allowed to be happy, not even for a moment?” Her eyes start to fill with tears as she tugs even harder at the hole. “Will I even get to be happy anymore, after what he’s done to me? Can I feel that way?  Will anyone even want me? How will I ever find the thing that will make me truly happy?”

“ _I w_ ill make you happy,” Cesare chokes out. He stares pointedly at Lucrezia, but her eyes are still trained down on the hole in his pants, steadily getting larger.

“I will make you happy,” he repeats, his voice steadying. “And damn anyone who tries to destroy your happiness. Damn Father and Juan and everyone who has ever wiped the smile off of your beautiful face. Damn... _him._ ” Cesare still can’t bring himself to say the name out loud. “Damn him to _hell_ and beyond. I swear to God I will make him pay for this. I will carve out his heart with a rusty spoon if it means I’ll get to see you smile again.”

The fabric suddenly gives way and Lucrezia’s finger drags up his pant leg as the hole transforms into a long rip, exposing a large swath of Cesare’s thigh. She squeaks in shock and is about to babble an apology when he grabs her hand and clutches it to his chest.

“They’re just pants,” he states, his eyes steadily locked with hers. “Did you hear me? What I said?”

Again there’s silence. However, Cesare sees something bubbling within his sister’s eyes. Beneath the lightness and grace of before, there emerges a new hardness, an edge to her gaze. He sees the weight of hardship mixed with the darkness of experience, the loss of innocence, begin to bloom in her eyes and he’s struck by a sobering thought.

_She’s not a little girl any more._

“Yes, of course.” She licks her lips and finally matches his stare.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Thank you all for your feedback! I have to admit, I am getting a bit bogged down by this whole posting every week bit. I work retail, so it's getting pretty intense at work already. However, a routine is good for the soul! Sorry this chapter is a bit short, I promise I'll get back to the long ones soon :)


	14. Chapter 14

Ascanio announces Rodrigo’s arrival at the office approximately 2.7 seconds before the man himself sweeps into the door, guns blazing. Initially, Giulia is uncertain about what all the fuss is about, but the moment she sees her boss’s beet-red face, she realises it doesn’t really matter.

Grabbing her notepad and phone, she trails him into his office and takes her usual seat in the chair facing his desk. “Good morning, Rodrigo. How may I help you this morning? Do you need a coffee?”

“Oh fuck off with the formalities, Giulia Farnese!” he spits, running his fingers through his already wildly messy hair.

She wrinkles her nose. “So I guess that’s a ‘no’ to the coffee?”

Fingers pausing, Rodrigo looks up at her and sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s been a stressful night. It’s not your fault, and I have no right to be snippy at you.”

“Oh, you have every right. I’m here to make your life easier, and if that means I have to endure a few minutes of your snipping, so be it. I imagine it’s caused by something big.”

She glances at him through her lowered eyelashes as he stares back at her wistfully. “Ahhh, yes,” he mumbles. “Well... ahh, yes.”

There’s an awkward pause and then he suddenly shakes his head to compose himself. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. No use in complaining when we could be doing something productive. Now Giulia... ugh, how do I put this? Giulia, I’m going to need you to call some contacts for me for a _private_ matter.”

“Of course,” she responds, already scribbling down notes to herself. “Who do you need me to call?”

“I’m not even sure yet, I just know I need to call...” Rodrigo’s voice trails off when he sees his family photo, framed lovingly of course, on the corner of his desk. It’s the family Christmas portrait from several years back, more than several if Juan’s blond frosted tips and Cesare’s braces are any indication. What really strikes him is the image of Lucrezia, her blonde hair frizzy and billowy around her rosy cheeked face, her smile so wide and earnest.

“My baby,” he breathes as he reaches out to the photo and strokes the image’s cheek with his index finger.

Giulia feels as though she’s intruding on an intimate moment and is about to leave discreetly when Rodrigo stops her. “Wait,” he murmurs, gesturing for her to sit down. He shakes his head again to refocus. Picking up her pencil, Giulia refocuses on the task at hand, trying not to speculate about why her boss is in such a bizarre mood.

Turns out, all she has to do is wait to find out.

Rodrigo leans over his phone and presses the call button. “Ascanio, could you please join us?”

“Of course,” the other man responds from outside the doorway. Naturally, he had been listening all along. He sidles into the room, shuts the door softly behind him, and takes a seat next to Giulia.

She surveys his face. Judging by its sombre expression, she assumes that he at least knows _something_ about what’s going on, and that _something_ isn’t pleasant.

 Rodrigo closes his eyes and announces, “Gio Sforza took Lucrezia out on a date and he raped her.”

S _NAP!_

 Giulia barely feels the tiny shards of wood and pencil lead digging into the soft skin of her fingers as she strains to focus on the rest of his words. Already her blood is rushing into her head, clouding her ears with a steady, throbbing roar. Rodrigo’s mouth is moving, but all she can hear is those three words, over and over again.

_He raped her. He raped her. He raped her._

Ascanio lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ms Farnese? Are you all right?”

Taking in a deep gulp of air, she reaches for the arm of her chair to steady herself. “Yes, yes of course. Ahem. Sorry, where were we?”

Rodrigo looks at her mournfully, his dark eyes round and slightly moist. “Are you sure you’re okay? You broke your pencil.” He pulls a ballpoint pen from the cup on his desk and slowly slides it to her across the worn wood surface. Still flustered, she snatches it up self consciously, aware that he’s looking at her like she’s an injured puppy.

“I’m fine,” she replies slowly and evenly. “Just...shocked, that’s all. That’s...that’s awful. Poor girl. Poor Lucrezia.”

Ascanio and Rodrigo exchange terse glances while Giulia frets silently in their seat. Finally, Rodrigo seems to make up his mind and sighs, “My dear, don’t worry about it. Ascanio and I should be able to handle the fallout ourselves.”

“Of course,” the other man pipes up. “We’ll be perfectly fine today. In fact, feel free to take the day off. Go shopping, take a bubble bath, just unwind for a bit. We’ve all had a pretty tense couple of days.”

 The way the men are looking at her, like she’s some sort of wounded animal, clues Giulia in to the plain, simple truth of the matter: They know.  They know about her and Otto and everything that happened, and all at once she’s struck by a mixture of appreciation and frustration. Appreciation for the consideration they’re attempting to show her, and frustration because, well, _they know._

“I...I’ll be okay, I swear it,” she stammers. “I mean, let’s just cut to the chase. I know that you know about my past...at least I’m assuming so by the way you two are treating me, and I want to assure you that it will in no way affect my ability to do my job.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Rodrigo assures her, reaching across the desk to lay a warm hand on her own. “But just because you _can_ do your job in this situation doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

She awkwardly collects her things and is about to leave when Rodrigo calls back to her. “Giulia?”

“Yes?”

He gives her a soft smile. “Please don’t think I have any doubts about your ability to perform your duties, to go above and beyond for this association. You are by far one of the most capable and brilliant women I have ever met, I assure you.” He chuckles. “You could probably run this place better than I could. Please, don’t be offended by this day off. It is a gift, not a punishment.”

“Okay,” she replies softly. “If you need any help today, feel free to call me.”

“I will. Have a great day, Giulia.”

***

It takes only five minutes of driving before Giulia realizes exactly where it is she has to be, and why God (and Rodrigo) blessed her with this day off. She mumbles a quick prayer for gentleness and discernment and heads over to the medical center, her heart in her throat the entire way.

It takes only a few moments to track down Lucrezia’s room and only a few more to find it. Pausing just outside the slightly opened door, she peeks inside to check on whether the young patient is sleeping. Instead, she is greeted by the sight of Cesare and Lucrezia playing a quiet game of rummy atop the hospital bed.   

It seems strange for Giulia, after having only seen these two in pictures on their father’s desk, how amazingly different the siblings are in the flesh. Cesare is as handsome and dark featured as the photo would suggest, but here in person his eyes flash with an infectious charisma that makes Giulia’s heart skip a beat. He looks out of place wearing a rumpled button down shirt and muddy jeans, but the way Lucrezia coyly smiles at him suggests that, had he not been here, her stay at the hospital would not have gone well.

Lucrezia in person is just as amazingly beautiful as her photo, but her pale round face is now marred by dark bags under her eyes and a tense sadness in her rosy mouth. She looks _so young w_ rapped up in her blankets, and Giulia suppresses the urge to sweep her up into a tight hug.

She clears her throat. “Hello!”

Lucrezia looks up from her hand of cards and shrinks back into her pillows when she sees Giulia. Cesare squints slightly in her direction, as if that will help him recognize her unfamiliar face.

“I’m Giulia...Farnase,” she adds when she notices their looks of confusion. “Your Father’s administrative assistant.”

“Ahhh,” Cesare shrugs and adds a jack of clubs to the discard pile. “Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen that old windbag all day.”

“He had an important meeting and was called away,” she explains, taken aback by the blatant insult. “He told me to tell you that he should be back tonight.”  

“Is that all then?” Lucrezia asks, her voice unnaturally light and airy. “He could have just texted.”

“No, that’s not really why I came.” Giulia nervously chews on her tongue, concerned that maybe this wasn’t quite the smartest move on her behalf. “I was wondering if I could talk to you, Lucrezia. Alone.”

Cesare immediately stiffens. “Alone? Why?” He instinctively moves to cover his sister.

Giulia is struck by how both siblings immediately display offensive behaviour when presented with something unknown. Even Lucrezia, despite being physically shielded by her brother, wears a stony glare that couldn’t look more predatory even if she bared her teeth and started growling.

“I’m sorry, I know this is kind of a weird request, and I know you’re probably not comfortable with it in light of your recent experience.” Giulia winces when she notices Cesare’s eyes flash. “But I just feel called to talk to you right now because I’ve experienced something very similar in my past.”

There’s a pause as the siblings share looks with each other, apparently communicating in an intimate non-verbal fashion. After a moment or two, Cesare sighs. “All right. I’ll just be waiting outside of the door.” He collects the cards into a neat pile and sets them on the end table as he exits the room.

Lucrezia watches him go. “Please excuse my brother,” she says. “He’s been tense.”

“I can understand why.” Giulia pulls a chair over from the corner of the room and sits down next to the bed. “How have you been?”

Sighing deeply, Lucrezia turns to face the other woman. Her lips are drawn into a fine line and there’s a great deal of tension in her body, as if she’s holding herself back. “I have been... better.”

“I see.” There’s silence for a minute, only punctuated by the persistent ticking of the clock. “Are you tired of telling your story?”

Lucrezia is taken aback. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean...it... _happened s_ o recently. I kind of just want to forget, you know?”

“I do. Would you be okay with hearing my story?”

Lucrezia nods.

“Okay. Well, just stop me if anything makes you uncomfortable.” Giulia closes her eyes for a moment to help gather her thoughts before continuing. “It happened when I was a bit older than you...I got married when I was nineteen to my high school sweetheart. His name was Otto Orsini and he was tall, handsome, funny, kind...or so I thought. I had never done anything sexual before I got married, so the wedding night was not what I was expecting.” She pauses to gauge Lucrezia’s expression, but the younger woman looks mostly impassive. “It was all too much for me and I panicked, I wanted to take things slower, but he...didn’t. This continued for over a year before I put a stop to it. I was only twenty, and I felt as though my life was over. I thought that that was my one and only chance for a relationship, for happiness and companionship.”

“So, I guess the point of me telling you all of this is to assure you that it’s _not._ Sure, you’ll never be the same again...but every experience in our lives, both good and bad, shapes us so that we’re different from who we were before. God has a plan for all of us, Lucrezia. Now that I’m older, I realize that there’s been a purpose for everything that’s happened to me, and even though I would never wish my experience onto anyone, I see now that that negativity has helped push me to the place I am now.”

Lucrezia stares at her. “But, are you married now?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you married now? You said that it wasn’t your only chance at a relationship, but have you had any other relationships since then?”

“I have had other relationships. I’m not currently married, but I do see it as a possibility for myself.”

“Hmm.” Lucrezia raises her eyebrows and starts picking at the nail polish on her finger. “Well, that’s good for you.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

 The awkwardness between them is physically palpable. Giulia lets out a long sigh, smoothes her pants over her legs and says, “Well, thank you for listening to me. I’ll let you resume your card game with your brother.” Nodding to herself, she pushes the chair back over to its corner and turns to leave.

“Giulia?” Lucrezia calls out, her voice suddenly small and timid.

Giulia walks back over to the bed and sits down. “Yes, Lucrezia?”

“I was just wondering...it’s stupid really.”

“There are no stupid questions, dear. Not now.”

Lucrezia chews her lips and fiddles with her split ends. Finally she sighs and asks, “How did you become normal again?”

“Normal? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean...how did you get your confidence back? How did you become able to walk around by yourself again and be able to have a job and do normal stuff?” She absentmindedly plays with the pile of blankets in the middle of her bed. “Every time I even think about leaving this hospital, I just... my stomach clenches up and I feel like I’m going to barf.”

She looks up, expecting Giulia to interject something about ‘how normal’ this feeling is or how ‘that will all go away in time,’ but the older woman just nods, a sad smile on her face.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do it,” Lucrezia continues. “I honestly don’t. I can’t even think about going to school, being out in the open and all exposed, but I feel like I can’t tell anyone about it.”

“Why not?” Giulia asks, her voice low and even.

“Because they’d all fall apart. Even Cesare... _especially_ Cesare. I feel like I have to be strong for everyone because our lives are just one big struggle for power and attention and I feel like I can’t show any weakness because then everything will fall apart.”

“That could be true.” Tentatively, Giulia reaches across the bed and lays her cool hand on top of Lucrezia’s. “I respect your observations about your family. However, to answer your question...” She takes in a deep breath. “Honestly, dear, it’s all about being honest with yourself, and honouring the promises you make to yourself. That’s the only way to become more confident. For me, I told myself that I would be able to have a job again, to work with men and not feel inferior to them and I stuck to that goal. I wanted to live free, away from my husband while still maintaining the lifestyle I was accustomed to. Now I am able to support myself financially and work and be respected in a male dominated environment, all because I keep reassuring myself that I can do it. Every day.” She gently squeezes Lucrezia’s hand. “You just need to discover what you truly want and then take it. Take it, and stop telling yourself you will never be able to have it.”

Lucrezia sniffles and wipes an errant trail of mucous from her face. “But what if I don’t know what I want?” she asks in a meek voice.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Giulia responds. “It’ll come with time.”

The two women sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. Giulia, overcome with maternal instinct, suddenly reaches out her hand and strokes Lucrezia’s shoulder.

Lucrezia recoils and Giulia yanks her hand back, apologizing profusely.

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry dear! I should have known better, I’m so sorry!”

Shaking her head, Lucrezia waves her hands in front of her face. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that...” She looks away. “...I mean, you’re really nice and all, but I don’t think we can be friends because of, well, you know.”

“I don’t.”

Lucrezia looks visibly uncomfortable and Giulia wishes she could just take back her shoulder touch and avoid all of this awkwardness.

“Well, I’ve actually heard my mom talking about you...with my dad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah... It’s just that my dad has had a bunch of female secretaries before, and it always ends the same way. I...I don’t mean to call you a slut or anything,” she quickly backtracks, “but he always ends up having sex with them. My mom knows, of course, but she’s not okay with it. I guess when the Association was hiring for your position, my mom explicitly requested that they not hire you...but, yeah.”

“But that doesn’t have anything to do with us,” Giulia adds softly. “I would still be honoured to be your friend.”

“Oh, I would too. You seem really cool and stuff, but it’s just not that simple.”

“It never is.” Giulia stands and gives Lucrezia a small smile. Pulling a scrap of paper out of her pocket, she scribbles down her phone number and places it on the end table. “I still want you to feel free to call me if you need to talk. Or text me.”

Lucrezia looks over at the paper. “Yeah. Thanks, I would like that.”

“Do you want me to call your brother in for you?” Giulia shrugs in the direction of the doorway.

“Yeah. Thanks for stopping by.”

Lucrezia turns away from Giulia and starts looking out of her window, seemingly lost in thought. As Giulia walks out of the door she prays a silent prayer of thanks and nearly runs into Cesare who is waiting just outside.

“Oh, sorry. Uhm, we’re done now,” she stammers.

“Good,” he responds, giving her a strange look before sliding into the room. She watches as he gently sits down next to his sister, smoothing her hair out of her face and squeezing her knee.

_What I wouldn’t give for a brother like that. Or for anyone who treated me like that,_ Giulia muses as she walks out of the hospital. _Oh well._ _Maybe it isn’t too late for some shopping and a bubble bath as well._

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to move my update day to Wednesday, mostly because I don't ever work on Wednesday sooooo....welcome to new update Wednesday! :D


	15. Chapter 15

Sixty-eight hours, twenty-four minutes, and six seconds.

That’s how long it takes for Micheletto to find him, that bastard Giovanni Sforza. The first hour was spent doing research, so that hardly counts. The next two were spent finding vehicles that would be untraceable...he relied on a contact in Raleigh for that. The next sixty-five were spent on the road, crossing county borders and state lines, tapping into security tapes and traffic control cameras, listening in on his police scanner, sleeping...just basic steps, both exciting and mundane, that came with tracking a person across country.

Once he had left New York, it became instantly clear where the young man was headed. The Sforza family held numerous properties across North America, but Gio’s path was scattered and frantic, indicating that he didn’t know where to turn. Exiting north east out of New York meant that Gio was headed to his family’s vacation home in Bar Harbor, Maine. It was a beautiful town but, as Micheletto steered his third vehicle of the trip past multiple oceanfront properties, there was no time to just sit and relax.

The Sforza house is beautiful, all wood shingled with whitewashed trim and amazing multimillion dollar views. Micheletto parks right across the street in his nondescript gray sedan and pulls out his binoculars.  Unfortunately the house is fully staffed, making a quick grab and run almost impossible. He makes note the two burly butlers standing just inside the door and the high fences completely surrounding the property.

 _Hmmmm...kind of reminds me of the time in Venice with the cabbage, the duck, and the son of the French Ambassador._ He muses. _I guess this time, like the last, there is nothing left to do but wait._

***  
After a whirlwind three day session at the hospital, Lucrezia is finally ready to go home. It’s an arduous process, filled with therapy and paperwork, but once she’s safely in the car and on the way home, she finally relaxes, just a bit.

The calm only lasts for a second before the panic creeps in again. _What am I going to do? How will I make this better?_ Giulia’s face swims into her head. _What do I want? What will make me truly happy?_

She glances up at Cesare’s face reflected in the rear view mirror. Brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes flick down to meet hers every few seconds.

“You okay?” he whispers, trying not to wake their snoozing mother in the backseat.

Lucrezia musters up a smile. “Yeah. Just happy to be going home.”

Armed with a pile of blankets, some chick lit, and her trusty laptop, she holes herself into her bedroom as soon as she gets through the door. Sure, home is nice, but right now she just needs to think and sleep, then think some more.

 _What makes me happy?_   

Cesare, desperate to help in any way, shape, or form, is crushed; any pleading and inquisition from outside of her closed door is met with a soft “please, just leave me alone for a bit.” Frustrated and suddenly drained, both Vanozza and Cesare retire to the den. Vanozza, feeling a bit chilled despite the warm autumn weather, lights the fireplace and sits down in her favourite squashy armchair to admire the colored leaves through the floor to ceiling windows. Cesare lies back on the couch and pulls out his phone to answer a few texts.

“Where was Juan this morning?” Vanozza asks. “It’s not like him to miss a family gathering.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Cesare responds, scrolling through his phone. Suddenly, he notices something that makes him chuckle.

It’s a YouTube video of his beloved brother on a talk show, dressed impeccably in a five thousand dollar suit. The caption reads ‘Local Politician Interview Embarrassment’ and apparently it’s already been viewed over thirty thousand times.

“Oh yeah...” Cesare mumbles to himself. “He had that interview thing this morning. He’s been bragging about it all month.” He presses play on the video and turns the volume down so he doesn’t disturb his mother.   

The relative calm of the Borgia household is suddenly interrupted by a slammed door and a string of vile curse words. Vanozza glances away from the window and wrinkles her nose. “What’s going on?”

“It must be Juan,” Cesare answers, just as the man in question bursts in from the kitchen, eyes wild and hair mussed. “He’s had a bad day.”

“A bad day. Now that’s not an understatement at all!” Juan spits sarcastically. “My day was an unmitigated disaster, no thanks to anyone here.”

“What did you _do?”_ Vanozza exclaims, her eyebrows so high they run the risk of disappearing into her hair.  

Cesare responds. “He fucked up. Badly. He said that Charlotte is the state capital live on national television, among other equally stupid things.”

Vanozza shakes her head, but can’t completely erase her amusement from her face.  “What possessed you, Juan? Were you drunk?”

“No. No! No, mother, and I am hurt that you would even suggest that!” Juan drops his briefcase onto the floor to punctuate his sincerity. “I take my job very seriously!”

Cesare lets out a low belly laugh. “Oh, we know,” he chokes out between chuckles.  

 Red faced, Juan paces erratically in front of the fireplace. “I can’t believe the nerve of everyone here, my so called f _amily!_ Mocking me, treating my failures as a joke for their own amusement. I was there by myself, without the support of this family and was expected to succeed! Who could have done better under that sort of pressure? Where was Father when I needed his help? Where was my illustrious brother who is apparently such a good scholar and author?”

“We were with your baby sister, Juan,” Vanozza replies evenly, intentionally ignoring the pounding headache growing at her temples.

“Yeah, your baby sister who was _raped_ not even a week ago!” Cesare spits. He fumes at his brother, his eyes like daggers. “It’s a bit more important than getting you prepared for your stupid interview...something, I might add, that’s entirely your responsibility!”

“Oh, fuck off, Cesare. As if you would have been any help anyways.”

 Juan finally flops down heavily onto Rodrigo’s favourite cracked leather wingback chair, which squeaks under the abuse.

“The problem with you, brother, is that you are so short sighted. Who do you think is going to take care of this family, eh? When Father dies? You?” He snorts. “How are you expecting to do that? With all of your successful bestsellers that you _haven’t_ written? With your T.A. position that pays like fifteen bucks and hour? Oh, or maybe you think you can support our family as a professional student! Good luck with that!”

Cesare chooses not to encourage him by responding. However, Juan takes this as a sign of weakness and presses further.

“See, this is what everyone here seems to not understand! _My s_ uccess is _our_ success.” He punctuates his words by pointing to his chest. “When I win, and I will win, it will ensure security for our family, even if Father dies. Because, let’s face it, he’s not getting any younger.”

“Juan,” Vanozza warns.

“Mother, this is a reality that needs to be discussed. I know it’s not pleasant, but we have to be prepared for the future.” He rounds on Cesare. “Back to you. What is your plan, really? Did you just expect that Father would explode into a cloud of money when he dies? Or...oh! I know! You probably thought that Mother would go back to her _old job!_ Maybe take Lucrezia with her?”

“How _dare_ you!” Cesare leaps off of the couch, tosses his phone to the side, and slowly stalks across the room to Juan, who is smirking. “How dare you even say those things, after what Lucrezia has been through!”   

“I can say whatever I want to! It’s true! I’m the future of this family, not you! No matter how much you try and win everyone over, I will still be the one who matters!”

Cesare closes in on his brother, fists clenching. Juan faces him with a grin plastered on his face, but his fingers, flexing into the soft leather of the chair, betray his tension.

“Boys!” their mother barks, jumping out of her chair. “Stop this at once! I did not raise you like this, to fight each other like cats! Yes, this is a very vulnerable time for our family. We’ve had to prioritise. Unfortunately Juan, you fell to the side recently, but please don’t think that we’re abandoning you.”

“It’s very easy to think that right now, Mother,” Juan pouts, flashing a glare at Cesare. “I feel like all of my hard work is just a joke for everyone else.”

“It’s a joke because you do fuck all most of the time.”

“Boys please.” Vanozza places a calming hand on each of their shoulders. “Now is not the time to be fighting with each other. I need you to both be strong for the sake of the family. For Lucrezia, and for your father.”

“Speaking of absentee family members, where was he this morning?” Cesare rolls his eyes. “Still at the office trying to fix all of his little Association emergencies?”

“See, this is why you’ll never amount to anything, Cesare. You’re unable to take any form of work that isn’t sucking your own dick seriously!”

“JUAN!” Vanozza lifts her hands of off their shoulders and waves them in the air, frustrated. “I am getting close to the limit for your bullshit in these situations! Both of you are smart, handsome, resourceful men, and both of you are successful and important in your own ways. Juan, you are planning a very ambitious political career and, aside from today’s little hiccup, you are doing very well. Cesare, not only are you an amazing academic, but you are also on track to becoming a very high demand speaker. Now why can’t you both just be happy for each other?”

The two men glare at each other, both embarrassed and frustrated that they need to be chastised by their mother. Vanozza, convinced that they finally won’t resort to killing each other, leaves the room in a huff. “Grow up, both of you.”

As soon as she’s left, Juan counters. “I’m sure we’d get along better if you weren’t such a self absorbed douche canoe.”

“I’m self absorbed? Which one of us has cleaned up the other’s puke on multiple occasions?”

“Oh, and I’m sure you did that out of the goodness of your heart!”

Cesare finally sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this. I need to check on Lucrezia.” He turns and walks down the hallway, shoving his brother’s shoulder on the way out.

It’s almost routine now, his little knocks at Lucrezia’s door. He taps twice, listening closely for any rustles on the other side, but he’s ultimately met with silence.

“It’s just me, Lucrezia, I promise. We don’t have to talk or anything... I just want to, _need_ to see your face.”

His impassioned plea is met by the soft _‘click’_ of her door unlocking. Moving slowly, he gently opens the door and shuts it quietly behind him before looking over at his sister.

“Hello, brother.”

_Oh Lord._

She’s not naked again, no, then his heart really would have stopped. Instead it just shudders and leaps into his throat when he sees her, lounging atop her massive pile of pink and gold blankets, wearing a thin white tank top and black short shorts. Her hair flows over her shoulders in a great mass of gold ringlets and her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes...her eyes look so different, filled with determination and a lazy sort of grace that makes his stomach curl.

“Wha...what’s the meaning of this? Sis?” he chokes out, fumbling for the door handle. His hands are shaking. “Uh, I should go, sorry for, ah, disturbing you.”

“Don’t leave, Cesare, we haven’t even talked yet,” she says, a smile playing on the edges of her mouth. “And that’s why you came in, right? To _talk?”_

“Auhhhh...” He looks around wildly, convinced that this is some sort of elaborate prank concocted by his siblings to expose his depravity and send him off to jail. His brain is screaming that ‘ _this is a trap, this is a trap, THIS IS A TRAP,”_ but when Lucrezia curls an outstretched finger and bids him to sit down next to her, his legs move of their own accord.

The mattress groans under his weight and the fluffy blankets poof around him unceremoniously, causing Lucrezia to giggle and pull him closer by his shirt sleeve. He obliges ‘ _so the shirt won’t be ruined,’_ he tells himself, but the way his face gravitates to her can’t wholly be blamed on the preservation of his wardrobe. Her eyes are luminous in the midday sun, which streams through her open window.

They stay like that for a moment or two, his face a foot from hers, both reclined lazily on her bed. Finally, Lucrezia speaks. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my life and my choices,” she starts. He moves to speak, but she hushes him with a finger to his lips. “Not now.”

She chuckles and continues. “So many people have been like that, you know. They say they want to listen, but really they’re just there to talk at me, to tell me how I feel and what I should do about it.” Pausing, she blows a strand of hair up from her face. “Anyways, as I was saying, I’ve been thinking a lot about my life and my choices. Giulia Farnese, when she came to me she said that the most important component for my recovery was for me to discover what I truly want...and to go after it and take it. And, I guess, in this room for the past while I’ve been thinking about what I want...what I’ve been wanting my entire life.”

The room is still as Lucrezia stares into her brother’s eyes. Silence isn’t normally awkward between them, but this time the moments stretch on as the air grows thick with tension.

“Is...is this a game, sis?” Cesare finally breathes, unable to stand it any longer.

She laughs. “A game? Yes, I guess you could call it that. A guessing game. What is it that I _want..._ what is it that I’ve been _wanting_ my entire life?”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “Well, it’s not a pony, is it?”

“Hmmm...a pony?” She props her head up on her hand, her elbow digging into the soft sheets underneath them. “No, not a pony. Strike one.”

Chuckling, he dares to shuffle slightly towards her, aware that he’s broken into a fine sweat at his temples. “Strike one? I didn’t know there were limits to this game. What happens to me if I lose?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I don’t think it’ll affect the outcome of the game at all.” Her eyes flash. “Guess again.”

His heart is pounding wildly, so hard that he’s sure she can see his pulse at his throat. “Ahh...you want to go back home? To Cali?”

“Hmmmmm. I do...put that is only one thing I _want._ What have I been _wanting_ my entire life? You have one more guess.” She licks her lips.

 “Uhhhh...” Cesare’s palms are sweating, his lungs are straining, everything in his body seems to be protesting this tense and awkward yet _exciting_ situation he’s put himself into.  

He knows the answer. Well, he thinks he does, but he also thinks that it’s impossible, that his judgement has been clouded by two much stress and a lack of sleep and all of _this._ His brain has given up on screaming at him and now just seems to be kicking him in the back of his skull, judging by the tension headache that’s starting to form. As for other parts of him...well, his dick is pretty sure of what the answer is, but it’s never been a good arbitrator of anything.

Their faces are so close now, close enough to... _well, fuck it._

“I think I know the answer,” he breathes, and leans forward, bracing himself against the sheets.

Lucrezia follows, her eyes hooded and dark. “What is it?” she whispers.

Time seems to stand still as their heads leans forward. She gives him one last glance through her lashes, her pupils blown against the light blue gray of her eyes, before closing her eyes completely and surrendering. His entire body shudders when he feels the brush of her lips against his, but he resists just for a moment to whisper, “Is it me?” against her lips before...

“ _RED SOLO CUP! I FILL YOU UP! LET’S HAVE A PARTY! LET’S HAVE A PARTY!”_

Lucrezia chokes and pushes him away, all while descending into a fit of giggles on the blankets. Cesare blinks and leaps up from the bed as if burned. He fumbles at his pockets for his phone, his hands still shaking madly. When he finally finds it, he shoves it to his ear and barks, “What?”

_“I’ve found him in Bar Harbor, Maine. It took some doing, but I have him in my possession.”_

This new information dumps into Cesare’s brain like a bucket of ice water. He shakes his head in an effort to clear it, but everything is still hazy. “Uh, okay. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

 _“Of course, take your time. He’s not going anywhere.”_  Micheletto hangs up abruptly, leaving Cesare staring at his phone.

Lucrezia laughs at him, pulling her thick blankets around her body. “Was it something important?” she asks.

“Yeah...ugh, yeah. I need to go.” Despite his apparently urgency, he remains rooted to the spot, staring at the bed, the site of their little game, the place where they almost...

“Well get going then!” Lucrezia lobs a pillow at her brother’s face, clipping him on the ear.

“Oww! Okay, okay!” He takes one last look at her resplendent face and her body buried under a mound of blankets before running out the door.

He’s in his car and on the way to the airport when his phone gives a ‘ _ping!’_ Curious, he glances down, and the message almost makes him crash..

 _You were right. You win the game. Can’t wait til you get home <3_   


	16. Chapter 16

Adrenaline is a funny thing.

It can be addictive.  Just ask any sky diver, bungee jumper, extreme sport-player, they’ll all say the same thing: “ _I do it for the high, man!”_ It’s like a drug for some, a free and legal source of euphoria that drives otherwise sane individuals to do crazy things.

For someone with anxiety it can be quite different. The increased heart beat and hyper awareness that is so addictive to the sky diver becomes a harbinger of panic to the person with an anxiety disorder. Living in an almost constant state of flight can drain a person and make them shrivel up and die inside.

For Cesare, adrenaline is life. Scratch that, adrenaline is the _precursor_ to life. The hyper aware, almost jittery feeling of precious epinephrine flowing through his veins makes him feel alive, but more importantly makes him know that something big is about to happen.

He can remember when he was thirteen and got stung by a wasp...back then he was allergic, God, he was allergic to _everything_ back then. It was one of the worst feelings in his life, the initial burn of the sting followed by the sudden panic, the way his heart shuddered and his throat began to close up.

***

_It happens so quickly._

_They’re all playing out on the beach in front of their Santa Barbara house. Gioffre’s just two and just pooped himself, so Mama heads back up the path to change him, leaving the three eldest siblings all alone on the sandy water’s edge._

_It’s hot outside, at least 105 degrees, so they’ve left several cans of soda out next to their beach chairs. Tired, thirsty, and not really thinking, Cesare runs over to their drinks and flops onto a chair._

_Right onto a very angry, very soda filled wasp._

_It’s mostly a blur after that. He feels the warm pain of the sting, which is quickly overtaken by a numb, itchy sensation that starts at his thigh and quickly snakes all over his body, to his head, heart, lungs. He screams, but all that comes out is a low-pitched moan._

_“What’s that, what’re you doing, Cesare?”_

_“I think he hurt himself, Juan, he don’t look good.”_

_Cesare can faintly hear the distinctive soft noise of feet running on sand. Aware that there’s someone next to him, he tries to flail a shaking hand in the direction of the sting._

_“What’re you doing? Are you gonna puke?”_

_“Oh my gosh, there’s bees here! He got stinged by one! Look at his leg!”_

_“What? Oh, gross, it’s all red and stuff!”_

_“He’s choking! Juan, where’s the pen thing?”_

_“It’s in his bag.” There’s a muted rustle. “I got it!”_

_“Put it in! Make him better, he can’t breathe!”_

_There’s a pause._

_“I don’t know how to do it.”_

_“But Mama showed us how! Ugh, here.”_

_Cesare pries his eyes open in time to see his baby sister, just barely seven years old with a wild mop of blonde hair and missing front teeth, pull off the top of his EpiPen and jab it into his thigh with fierce determination. He feels like ice has been shot into his veins but the relief is instantaneous as his throat opens up and his heart starts pounding healthily._

_The first thing his eyes focus on is Juan’s awful attempt at a moustache, but the second and by far most lovely is the face of his beloved Lucrezia, who is staring at him with a panicked expression._

_“You...you okay?” she whispers._

_“Y-yeah. Yes!” Okay, maybe his heart is pumping just a little_ too _quickly but, through the pain and the cold, he feels amazing gratitude towards his sister, his angel, his love._

***

That was the beginning of this _thing,_ if you could even call it a thing, between him and Lucrezia. This sacred bond, this otherworldly friendship that transcends even the bonds of siblinghood. Sure, he has always loved Lucrezia. Ever since the day she was born he worshipped her and protected her. However, that day on the beach was the first day where _she_ protected him, and where she became something different to him. An _equal._

And now... well, now it’s something different again, isn’t it?  

That _almost_ kiss that they shared initiated a spike of adrenaline in his body that, even several hours later, has yet to subside. It’s helped him this far. Without it, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it onto that plane to New York, or into any one of these vehicles that Micheletto’s found for him. Without it he would still be in a proverbial puddle in his house somewhere, fainted from the shock and pressure of everything that’s happened in the past few hours.

_She loves me like that._ It keeps running through his brain, almost distracting him to the point of accident. _She loves me, and I love her. Like that._

It’s as though life holds no more obstacles for him, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Pulling into the tree laden Maine park, he quickly wipes down the interior of the car with a bleach soaked rag before gingerly stepping outside.

Sure, it seems ludicrous, but apparently you can’t be too cautious when it comes to committing a crime. Cesare catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror and laughs. He’s dressed to the nines in a nondescript no name black sweatsuit, latex gloves, and a flowered swimming cap, per Micheletto’s instructions. He’s never looked more ridiculous.

“What’s so funny?”

His heart jumps into his throat, but it’s only Micheletto, peering through the trees with his arms full of Home Depot bags. “Sorry if I scared you. I just went to go pick up some more supplies.”

“Jesus,” Cesare wheezes. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Of course the joke doesn’t sit well with either of them, but Micheletto forces out a chuckle to contain the awkwardness.

Cesare grabs a couple of the bags. “God, these are heavy. What did you get?” He peeks inside and notices several hacksaws, a hammer, and a rather large pair of hedge trimmers. His stomach drops and he closes the bag quickly.

“Don’t mind that now. Let me show you the...” Micheletto pauses when he notices Cesare’s progressively colorless face. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay! I came here, right? I’m very serious about this.”

“I didn’t mean that you weren’t. It’s just...”

“It’s just what?” Cesare faces Micheletto, his mouth a grim line. “You don’t think I can do it?”

Mutely, Micheletto shakes his head. Letting his bags fall to the ground, he walks forward and tentatively rests his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it,” Micheletto continues. “Far from it; I think you are capable of doing almost anything you set your mind to. It’s just...” He struggles for words, and Cesare is struck by how _human_ he looks in that moment. “It’s hard to make your first kill...it’s hard to take that extra step. You see, ever since you’ve been born, you’ve been conditioned to believe that killing another person is wrong, that it’s the ultimate evil and it’s the worst possible thing you could ever do. I’m saying that I agree with that wholeheartedly, but one thing they never tell you is once you do it...killing is _easy._ And not just easy, it’s addictive. Not in the sense that you get a high from it...well, I suppose some do, but in the sense that once you experience how easy killing is, it becomes harder to stop killing to solve your problems.”

He holds his hands up off of Cesare’s shoulders and takes a step back. “Now, you don’t pay me to tell you what to do. I understand that. However, I just want you to know that you have one of the most amazing minds I have ever encountered, and I would hate to see you stop relying on that mind to get you out of scrapes just because killing is the easier option.”

“But is it, truly?”

Micheletto nods, and for once Cesare sees each and every life he took written on his face. His father, the police officer, all of the other unnamed souls, each one screams out from Micheletto’s eyes until he blinks and they suddenly disappear, replaced by his normal impassive expression.

All of a sudden the Home Depot bags feel heavy in Cesare’s arms and he drops them on the ground with a loud ‘ _CLANK!’_ “Everything’s just been happening so fast,” he huffs. “I feel like all of these lines are coming up that I have to cross, and I don’t really know if I’m ready for it.”

Wisely, Micheletto doesn’t ask about any non-obvious lines, and instead hoists up the Home Depot bags himself. “Understandable. I apologize if my concern startled you; it’s not my place to question any of your plans and I take back everything I said. I’m here as a guide and a cheerleader, nothing more. You will be amazing. Just don’t have any misgivings about the security of this operation. I assure you, I’ve thought of everything.”

The two men walk silently through the damp coastland, Micheletto with his bags and Cesare with his thoughts slowly mulling around in his head. They cross through a particularly thick patch of trees and then Cesare sees it.

“A-a black van? With _blacked out windows?”_ He chuckles despite the darkness of the situation. “I feel like I’ve wandered onto the set of an after school special.”

“Rightly so,” Micheletto replies gruffly. “I’ve, well, I suppose you could say I’ve borrowed it from an associate of mine. I needed something disposable, and he needs this particular vehicle disposed of, for personal reasons. He’s a child molester,” he adds on as an afterthought.

Cesare pauses and gapes. “A w _hat?”_

“I said he was an associate, not a friend. And a useful associate at that. While I don’t condone his actions, I also don’t feel that it is my place to turn him in.”

“Huh. A little honor amongst thieves, is that it?”

“Precisely.”

“I didn’t realise that a life of crime contained so many clichés.”

“Indeed.”

“I suppose that’s the reason why they became clichés, hey? They’re actually based on truth?”

“Of course.”

They both pause outside of the van. Cesare shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his nervous energy unable to be contained by his body. “Sorry. Am I talking too much?”

“You can talk as much as you like, sir,” Micheletto responds. “It’s better to get it all out now because, speaking from experience, talking’s not really going to help with what happens next.”

He pulls a shower cap and latex gloves from out of his pocket and slides them on, looking, if possible, even more awful than Cesare. Hoisting the bags in his arms, he slides open the van’s side door and steps into the dark vehicle. Taking one last deep breath, Cesare follows, sliding the door closed behind him.

The air inside the van is thick with the scent of sweat and piss, but the first thing Cesare notices is _him._ The two rows of benches have been removed to allow for Gio Sforza to be tied to a rusty chair in the middle of the vehicle while still having room all around him. Micheletto crouches behind the driver’s seat, fiddling with a flashlight which eventually turns on, flooding the space with a harsh unnatural glow.

“You got your gloves on?” he rasps. Cesare nods. “Okay then, prepare yourself.” Wielding a smaller, focused flashlight in one hand, he pulls off Gio’s blindfold and gag in one swift motion.

The teenager gasps for air before letting out a long, animalistic howl. Fighting for breath, he surveys his two oddly-dressed kidnappers with wild eyes. “Who the fuck are you? Are you here to rape me?”

Cesare laughs. “As poetic as that would be...no.” He knees down until he is face to face with the young man. “I’m Cesare Borgia, and I’m here because I know what you did to my little sister.”

Whatever blood was left in Gio’s face drains away, but his expression hardens. “Oh, you’re the nerdy one?” he spits. “The pencil pusher? Daddy’s little bitch? What are you, some kind of fag?”

Another beautiful surge of adrenaline shoots through Cesare’s system. He raises his surprisingly steady hands and gestures to his clothes. “Oh, you don’t like my outfit? Too bad...too bad it’ll be the last thing you see before I rip your fucking eyeballs out of their sockets!”

Micheletto flinches, not out of pain but instead out of surprise at Cesare’s sudden outburst.

“I’m not wearing this because I’m a rapist, or because I’m gay or some sort of pervert. I’m wearing this so that I can eviscerate you, peel your skin off your body, drain you of every ounce of your blood and still walk away scot free.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gio counters. “My mother...”

“Fuck your mother,” Cesare says coldly. “I wish I could fuck her like you fucked my sister. Punish her for bringing filth like you into the world. Now...” He slides over one of the heaviest Home Depot bags, the one that contains the finishing nails and the staple gun. “Any last words?”

Gio stares at him, incredulous that he’s even prompted to say anything. “You’re serious?” he finally spits out. “You’re actually planning on killing me? Who _does_ that? Are you some sort of lunatic?”

“I’m a Borgia,” Cesare deadpans. “Make your own judgement. People always do.”

In a flash, Micheletto brandishes the gag and shoves it back into Gio’s mouth. “He’s all yours.”

Hands still true and steady, Cesare pulls out the little plastic tub of finishing nails. Pulling one out, he grabs his captive’s hand in his own and sets the tiny scrap of metal in the crack between the boy’s nail and the flesh of his finger. He pushes half-heartedly, but the skin doesn’t yield.

_One extra step. One last hurdle. It’s ingrained, it’s instinct, it’s holding you back. Just one last step to freedom._

Summoning up every last scrap of strength in him, Cesare shoves the nail straight in to the tip, eliciting a strangled yowl from Gio. He does another, and then another, each one easier and more satisfying than the next. When he runs out of fingers he pulls off the shoes and does the toes as well, even twisting some screws into the soles of his feet for good measure.

All of this takes about ten minutes, after which the exhausted Gio slumps into his chair in a dead faint. Micheletto shakes his head. “Oh, now that won’t do,” he mumbles, and fishes through another bag until he produces a taser, which he promptly uses to shock Gio awake.

“Wake up you ANIMAL!” Cesare yells in his face. His heart pounds harder with satisfaction when he sees the boy cower in his chair emitting broken whimpers. “We’ve only just begun!”

Everything after is a blur of staples to the thighs, rubber tubing to the throat, pure lemon juice to the soft skin of the eye. The roller coaster of screaming, striking, fainting and subsequent tasing rolls to a stop when Cesare notices the one stop he’s unconsciously been avoiding. The one unblemished, pristine section of Gio’s otherwise mutilated body.

His groin.

Micheletto notices the direction of Cesare’s gaze and hands him a hammer. A simple clawed hammer. “I think you might find this useful, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Cesare closes his eyes and focuses. All of his rage, fear, everything that has brought him to this point, he bottles it all up and focuses.

And then he sees her there, his Lucrezia; he sees her vulnerable and scared in the hospital, sees her beautiful tear stained face and then finally lets go and imagines her there, under this boy, scared and alone and screaming. And that’s all he needs.

“She. Was. MINE!”

He slams down the hammer between Gio’s legs once, twice, three times. The boy screams, his gag doing almost nothing to muffle the inhuman moans flowing from his mouth, but it’s still not enough. Getting a sure grip, he swings the clawed end of the hammer into the side of Gio’s face, knocking him unconscious one final time.

_Not enough._

He swings again and again. He swings everywhere, his hammer landing and crunching so many spots, the claws piercing bruised and blackened flesh. He swings until he can’t feel, or until he finally c _an_ feel, he’s not quite sure. All he knows for certain is the feeling of splattering, of moisture flying, that’s the closest thing to redemption he’s ever known.  

And when it’s finally over, when he finally hacks through Sforza’s miserable neck and sees the life drain out of his jugular, Cesare staggers, all of the precious adrenaline suddenly gone from his body. Micheletto reaches a hand to his shoulder and steadies him. 

“It’s okay, it’s done now,” the redhead mumbles, uncharacteristically kind amidst the gore and stench of blood and ruined minivan. “It’s over. I can take care of the rest.”

“Hngh. No. Not yet.” Resisting the urge to rub his face in his bloodied latex gloved hands, Cesare roughly jabs at Sforza’s prized letterman jacket with a pair of dirty hedge trimmers. With a little bit of effort, he finally pries off the once white letter, now stained pink, brown, and red. “For Lucrezia,” he explains bluntly.

“Of course, sir.” Micheletto awkwardly pats him again. “She’ll love it. But you should be getting home now.”

“Right, right. Home. Uh.” Cesare stares down at his hands. “What should I do with...this?”

“Take off all your clothes. There’s some fresh ones in a bag under the passenger seat. They’re probably tackier and cheaper than anything you’ve ever worn, but you’re never too old to try new things, eh? Dump your dirty stuff, gloves and hairnet too, into the bucket in the corner and I’ll take care of it with the rest.”

Nodding mutely, Cesare fumbles with the hem of his shirt, finally stripping it off with shaking fingers and throwing it to the ground.

Micheletto’s face reddens. “I’ll just, uh.” He makes an awkward circling motion with his finger, but Cesare doesn’t even notice and pulls down his pants and underwear in one smooth movement.

“Shoes too?” he grunts.

“Shoes too,” Micheletto replies. He gingerly pushes the bucket over and then scurries back into the corner as if burnt.  “Yes, everything in here, yes.”

In no time at all, Cesare replaces all of his clothing, right down to his socks. He looks dramatically different in Micheletto’s procured wardrobe, wearing some faded Levi’s, old Air Jordans and, hilariously enough, a completely genuine three wolf moon t-shirt.

“How does it feel?”

“I’m pretty sure I had this exact same shirt in 1997.” Cesare smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

“All part of my job.”

“Heh, I guess so.” They suddenly both become hyper aware of the partially destroyed body lying slumped over on the bench seat between them. “So...I should go? Are you sure?”

Micheletto does his weird half-grin. “Again, all part of my job. I recommend that you shave, maybe get some dark sunglasses and a hat, lie low for a day or two before flying out. Either that or pose as a Canadian tourist and drive down the coastline. Either way could work.”

“Driving down would get me home faster,” Cesare reasons. He’s antsy to get home, back to his room and his bed, get back to _his_ Lucrezia. He’s not sure whether she’ll be happy, whether she’ll appreciate this beautiful gift he’s just made her, but his body is thrumming with anticipation and he just _has_ to tell her as soon as possible.

Heart pounding, he takes one last look at Gio Sforza’s body.

Even in death, the bastard is still smirking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!


	17. Chapter 17

_What have I done?_

Cesare wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and regret in his heart. In order to maximize his stealthiness, he had decided to sleep in his car, which was not only uncomfortable but also incredibly stupid.

_I am too damn old for this,_ he grumbles to himself, fishing a granola bar out from the glove compartment of his ‘borrowed’ car. He tries to tear into the shiny plastic wrapper, but his hands won’t stop shaking so he tosses the snack aside and starts to drive.

Despite his poor sleep, his dreams were surprisingly vivid and lucid. In one he was Pandora, drowning in tears of blood, trying to stuff the worries of the world back into a bejewelled box. In the next he was Adam, perpetually choking on a sour green apple that wouldn’t quite stay down his throat, his Eve a deliciously soft skinned angel with golden curls.

He chalks it down to coincidence, an overactive imagination and too much fast food, but when he gets a flat tire right outside of ‘ _Open Door Baptist Church’,_ he finally considers that yes, maybe somebody up there _is_ trying to give him a sign.

Pulling out his phone to call a tow truck, he notices the text from Lucrezia. The one she sent him right after he left, the one where she says that...when she admits...

_No._ Summoning all of his willpower, Cesare shoves his phone back into his pocket and wills all of his lascivious thoughts away as well. Instead of calling her or, more logically, a tow truck, he clasps his hands together and bows his head in prayer.

_How long has it been now?_ he wonders. _Since I’ve actually prayed..._  Of course meal times didn’t count since those were mostly half hearted and meaningless. His freak out last night...well, understandably he had kept God out of that. He thinks back over the last week or so and comes up with nothing. Zero times.

_God, I am the worst seminary student ever,_ he muses, the old guilt creeping in as soon as he lets it. Again, he wills himself to pray, opening his mind and searching for the words to say. Nothing comes. Finally, desperate for something to guide his uninspired mind, he runs over the steps to the ACTS prayer in his head, hoping the basic guideline will inspire him in some way.

_Adoration._

“God, you are so...great,” he starts out lamely. His voice sounds weak and stupid, with a strange quaver in it that’s not going away. “You are so...mighty? Jesus, fuck!” He slams his hands against the steering wheel. “Whew. Okay, okay, skip that part. God knows how awesome he is already. I don’t need to tell him.”

He glances around the empty parking lot, suddenly self conscious that someone will catch him muttering to himself in his car. Satisfied that he’s alone, he resumes the steps.

_Confession._

“Dear Lord, I have sinned against you. I confess that I have...”

_Befriended and employed a known criminal. Planned to poison one of your servants. Tortured and killed an eighteen year old boy. Teased and lusted over my underage sister._

He chokes, the magnitude of his actions washing over him like a cold shower. Presented so starkly, without justification, his actions seem so... cold. Inhumane. Detached.

_Thanksgiving._

“God, thank you so much for...well, for my life. Thank you for my family, for my father and mother, thank you for the prosperity and wealth that You’ve blessed us with. Thank you...for the time that I’ve been given in seminary studying You and Your Word. Thank you for all of the opportunities that you’ve blessed me with.” He pauses, words stilled on his tongue. “I-I’m so sorry.”

_Supplication._

“I’m sorry...f-for everything.” Tears start rolling down his face, unbidden but not unexpected. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...I’m sorry for wasting my time, _your time._ I-I just, please. Please help me to stay focused on my studies. Please guide me along the path you have laid out for me. Please keep my family and our secrets safe, if it is your will, that is. Please...please, I just want to feel whole again. I just, I just don’t want to be a waste...”

He looks up when he hears a tapping sound on his window. Outside there’s a kindly old man waiting patiently, brandishing a wrench and a smile. Cautiously, Cesare rolls down the window.

“Sorry if I disturbed your prayer, son, but I figured I could be of some assistance to you. I was just about to head home for the night, but I noticed your flat in the back.” The man gestures over to the church. “I just work over here, but I’m not only a pastor; I’m also a part-time handyman and mechanic, and you look like you could use some help.”

If the man is put off by Cesare’s sleep deprived and tear stained face, he certainly doesn’t show it. Instead he gives another dazzling smile and points to the flat tire. “May I?”

“Uh-uh, of course,” Cesare stammers.

The man laughs. “Don’t sound so surprised, son! You looked like you were prayin’ for a miracle, and, well, our Lord put me on this Earth to spread his good news. Maybe your good news today is that your prayers have been answered.”

***

Cesare arrives home three hours later to a quiet, nearly empty house. Father is out, of course, putting out fires left and right amongst the Association’s contacts. Juan is nowhere to be found, and Mother is asleep. Luckily for Cesare, this leaves Lucrezia alone in the downstairs living room, reading a magazine and gazing out the window at the setting sun.

He slides into the room. “Hey.”

Surprised, she looks up over her magazine at him and smiles. “Hey you. Where’ve you been? Mama was looking for you all day.” She wrinkles her nose at his outfit. “What on Earth are you wearing? Were you at some sort of drunken redneck themed party?”

“I guess you could say that.” He rubs at his neck, suddenly self conscious about how his ‘gift’ will be received. “Hey. How are you feeling today?”

She shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Pretty much the same. I don’t know, everyone says it’ll get better, that I’ll start to feel more ‘normal’ again, but I don’t know. Like, I know it’s only been a week, but I still just feel like sitting around and crying all day.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I left you. Hey, come here.” Opening up his arms, welcomes her into a big bear hug. She reaches up and tentatively rubs at his stubbled chin with her nose, but he gently pushes her away.

“Just wait a second. I have something for you.” Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls out the raggedy bloodstained letter from Gio Sforza’s jacket and places into Lucrezia’s hand. “It’s a present,” he blurts out awkwardly.

It takes a few moments for her to identify the scrap of fabric, and a few more to piece together the meaning. Once she finally understands the implication of this particular token, she gazes up at him, her face shining with admiration. “This is...?” She lets the question hang between them.

He nods, and she takes in a deep gasp of breath. “I can’t believe you...I mean, I guess I always hoped, but you...” A single tear falls from her eye. “So this is it. It’s done.”

“Yes, it’s done.” Cesare swallows, uncomfortable with what comes next, but also sure of its necessity. “It’s done, but so is everything else. This... _thing,_ this game we play. It has to stop. It’s...it’s already gone too far.”

He can see the disappointment written all over his sister’s face, but he stays his ground. She opens her mouth to respond, but her silences her with a finger to her lips. Defiantly, she softens her mouth and caresses his digit with her tongue, a seductive grin tugging at the edges of her lips, however Cesare keeps his mind on his responsibilities, on his promises, and on his dedication to God, and manages to stay strong. He matches her seduction with an almost bored expression.

“Are you about done yet?”

“Am I?” She throws her hands up in the air. “Where is this coming from? What have I done to make you so mad at me?”

“Are you not listening to what I’m saying?” Frustrated, he paces over to the fireplace and rests against the mantle. “I’m not... _mad_ at you. I’m just saying that all of these games are getting dangerous. It’s almost like we don’t even exist in reality anymore. I mean, I-I-I _killed someone,_ ” he whispers. “I did that for you, and...and it was easy too.” He laughs softly to himself. “I’m in training to be a minister. This is my life, this has been the last five years of my life. All the while all of this is happening in my personal life, with you and what happened and-and it’s just ludicrous. I have to stop. _We_ have to stop.”

Frustrated and simply unable to stand looking at her for another second, he storms out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom.  Sure, it’s childish, and sure, she probably thinks he’s an idiot or a moron or the _worst brother ever,_ but at the moment, he just needs to escape.

***

She gives him two hours.

Two hours to calm down, re-evaluate life, have a shower, do whatever guys like Cesare do when they’ve had to make tough decisions and get stuff done. Conversely, she prepares herself for him. She brushes her teeth, finger combs her hair until it’s glossy, and rubs herself in that lotion that she knows makes him weak in the knees.   

Once she’s satisfied that he’s cooled off and she’s warmed up, she pulls on a white satin sleep set and steals down the hall. There’s only a tiny hint of light peeking out from the crack under his door. Every so lightly, she eases the door open and sneaks inside, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dim room.

“Lucrezia! God!” Cesare shuffles back against the wall, bumping his head on his headboard in his haste. His hands grip at his quilt, pulling the grey and black chequered blanket up over his body to cover his exposed chest. “What the fuck!” he hisses. “Knock first, please!”

“Shhhh,” she breathes. Eyes locked on his, she walks silently across his bedroom and lounges on his bed. She’s hyper aware of his gaze on her body, her dishevelled curls, her hooded, long lashed eyes. She notes how his eyes seem magnetically drawn to her chest where she knows her nipples are just visible through the thin cotton of her tank top.

“I’ve thought about what you said earlier today, when you gave me the thing.” Manoeuvring herself so that she lies facing him on her belly, she absent mindedly pushes her hair over her shoulder to expose the creamy skin of her neck.  “And I’m here to say that I reject your proposal.”

“You...you _what?”_ Cesare looks wildly around the room, as if someone would have the audacity to plant a bug in his closet or dresser. “It wasn’t a proposal, it was a resolution! I told you, we can’t keep going on like this. It’s _wrong_ and _unnatural, a_ nd it’s starting to get out of hand.”

“You’re starting to sound like Papa.” She inches closer, fascinated by the way her brother seems both attracted and repelled by her presence. “What’s gotten into you, love? You never used to be concerned about what everyone said was right or wrong. I though you said you wouldn’t let seminary change you?”

“It’s not that it’s changed me, it’s just that...augh.” Shock and paranoia slowly leeching from his face, he leans his head against his pillows and shuts his eyes. “I just had a revelation yesterday that I’ve been in school for over five years. Five years! Over a fifth of my life, and nothing has changed, at least not on my part. I started going because it was what Father wanted, but now...I want to be good at what I do, you know? And I’m just not good at this! I can write books and grade papers and lecture all I want, but I don’t believe any of it. I could maybe become a _good_ author or teacher, but I will never be a _great one..._ and, well, you know me. I can’t settle for anything less.”

“Hmmm.” Lucrezia sits up in the bed. “Well, why don’t you just quit?”

Cesare laughs. “Quit? I’ve been in school for five years! If I quit, I’ll have to go back to square one. I’ll have no career, no connections, I’ll be shunned from the community. I can’t...”

His protestations are abruptly cut off when Lucrezia lays a warm hand on his bare chest. She threads her fingers through the tuft of hair she finds there, absentmindedly humming to herself.

“It’s weird, y’know. I remember when you first started getting chest hair, how strange I thought it was. I mean, Juan had it already but...I don’t know, it just never occurred to me that you were similar to Juan in any way.” She moves her hand up to his face and starts stroking his cheek, feeling the rough stubble scratch against her fingertips. “It seems weird now, since you two are both guys and I’m not, but back when we were younger we were just Lucrezia and Cesare. And we were so close and I guess I almost felt _betrayed_ when you started getting older, started to resemble Juan. I felt like you were abandoning our own little world.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Cesare bites his lip to resist a moan when she lightly scratches her nails against his face. “You know I would never choose Juan over you.”

“But haven’t you? Or at least, haven’t you chosen all of them over me?” She stops her hand and lets it slide off of his face. Very deliberately, she raises her leg and straddles his blanket swathed body, letting her hands rest on both of his shoulders. “You never used to concern yourself about what was right or wrong. I didn’t either. We don’t _do_ right and wrong.” 

“Lucrezia...please.” He looks pained, his lips pursed together and his brow furrowed.

“Please...what, brother?” She leans her face closer, close enough for their noses to brush, but stops just shy of their customary gesture of affection. “Ahh. No more of this... playing around. You say you want to stop...” Closing her eyes, she moves in even closer, until she can whisper right on his lips.

“... _but we haven’t even started.”_

Heart beating wildly, she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly to her brother’s. Instantly she feels him harden against her thigh and she swallows the groan he pours into her mouth.  His lips are slightly rough and chapped, and his breath tastes of stale spearmint toothpaste, but nothing else matters because it’s happened, it’s _finally_ happened, and her entire body is shaking with the effort of holding back all of the pent up tension that’s been locked away for years.

His tongue nudges gently at her lips, and that’s when she pulls back, determination written all over her face. Her lips twist into a gentle smile when Cesare reaches up to pull her close to him, and she swats away his hand with a disapproving _tsk_.

“So, what will it be?” she asks breathlessly. Without giving him time to respond, she swings herself over the edge of the bed and quickly walks out of his room, closing the door gently behind her.

Her heart feels like it’s beating in her throat. She reaches out to the wall to steady herself as she walks the twenty foot hallway down to her room. Once inside, she opens her curtains, letting the cold moonlight wash over her bed.

So that’s it then. Letting out a long sigh of relief, she flops onto her bed, knocking several ruffled pillows to the floor. Almost seventeen years of the most perfect and beautiful relationship of her life have culminated into that one moment of impulsive _bliss,_ and she honestly couldn’t feel happier.

Well, she could. But that’s beyond her control right now, and that’s really the best part. The ball is finally over in _his_ court. No more stress, no more worry, no more subtle glances and manipulations of time and scenarios. You would think that, as siblings, the two of them would have a lot of time together, but unfortunately Juan in all of his strange clinginess had proven detrimental to their alone time.

She doesn’t quite know how long Cesare’s felt this way, but for her it’s been ages, at least ages in her short life so far. She’s loved him since before she can remember. After all, her first memory is of him playing with her hair and kissing her on the forehead and of the strange, warm feeling that she felt even as a toddler. Once she turned fourteen and rediscovered boys and kissing and romantic feelings, all she could think about was how _his_ lips would feel on hers, and what it would be like to be loved by the only man that has ever mattered to her.

Lucrezia sighs to herself, running the sensations of the kiss over and over again in her mind. She’s about to pull her hair back into a messy bun for sleeping when she hears her door creak open.

It’s Cesare. He slips into her room and carefully shuts the door behind him without a sound.  Once inside, he stops short of her bed and just stares at her. He looks as though his presence in her room has shocked himself, but underneath his sheepish exterior she sees the fire burning in his eyes.

Resisting any urge to coax him, to touch him and pull him into her bed, she lounges back on her pillows. “May I help you?” she whispers. “Or are you just here to gape at me?”

“I’m here to...” he starts. His face flushes, betraying the fact that he came instinctively, without a plan of action. “I’m here...” He swallows. “I’m here to... _oh fuck.”_

It happens in a flash, and suddenly they’re both engulfed in a mass of pillows as he pounces on her, pushing her back onto her bed. His mouth is seemingly _everywhere,_ on her lips, face cheeks, and she suddenly doesn’t even know how to breathe anymore.

They connect with an explosive and passionate kiss that lasts for maybe seconds but feels like an eternity before Cesare abruptly pulls her head back and stares at her. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes, punctuating each word with the gravitas it deserves. “You are, _we are_ so much more than any stupid life plan or whatever. But...” His eyes flicker down her body, over the barely faded bruises still visible under her flimsy clothing. “Aren’t you...isn’t it...?”

She laughs. Finally comfortable, _okay_ with everything, ecstatic even, she leans forward and brushes his nose with her own. He shivers. “Silly boy. I need you for this. I need you so that I can heal myself. You see...I can’t be whole without you.”

Awestruck, he stares at her like he _can’t quite_ believe that she’s real, that _this_ is all real. “So-so you’ll be okay?”

She nods and, in one fluid movement, pulls her shirt over her head, shivering when the material brushes against her hard nipples. He sucks in a breath and immediately descends on her body, licking a trail down from her collarbone to her left breast. For a moment he just stares at it, then back at up her face, looking like a child who’s just opened his first Christmas present. She giggles and threads her fingers through his hair, urging him onward, and he takes her nipple into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue. He moves to the next, each stroke and nip of his mouth sending shots of ecstasy through her body.

Soon she’s writhing against him, craving and curious for the sensation of warm skin against her own. She pulls her hands out of his hair and fumbles between them for the waistband of his pyjama pants. His mouth stills and she gasps in shock, afraid that she’s done some sort of sexual faux pas she wasn’t aware of.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Cesare breathes, tongue grazing the soft skin of her breast.

She stammers, not quite able to verbalize the strong emotions coursing through her. “But I, but I thought we were... I _wanted...”_

“Hush.” Looking up from her belly, he gives her a lustful smile that makes her shiver. “Just let me take care of you, love. I’ve waited so long to do this.”

He reaches his hand up to her chest and gently pushes her down onto the bed. Lucrezia lies there, shocked and shaking as she feels the warm wetness of his tongue trail down her belly, swirling into her belly button before dipping below the waistband of her pants.

“God, Lucrezia, I’ve...” Cesare groans as he slowly slides her pyjama bottoms down her legs and tosses them over the edge of the bed. He gently eases her legs apart and then lowers his mouth to her center.

Eyes clenched shut, she pushes her head back into her pillows as a wave of amazing sensations courses through her body. She’s masturbated before _of course,_ but there is simply no comparison between her frantically rubbing finger and Cesare’s languid licks and sucks. It’s as though he’s opening her up and massaging her from the inside and it’s amazing and wonderful and...

Like a kettle bubbling over, the pleasure finally reaches its peak and Lucrezia tangles her fingers into her brother’s hair as she clenches with the force of her orgasm. She strangles the moan in her throat, aware that her room is _right_ under Geoffre’s, but it’s so hard to even care when something so amazing and perfect has just happened.  

Mouth still attached to her, he moans as well and then raises both of them up into a seated position. He maintains eye contact with her as he peels off his pants and tosses them into a pile on top of her own. Even through the fog of her excitement and anxiety, she feels a warm glowing feeling at finally seeing _all_ of him. Lucrezia gapes as he lays one hand on her shoulder and trails the other one down her body, slowly and silkily, then uses his index and pointer fingers to slide into her, cautiously at first, and then firmer to open her up, to stroke away the soreness and stiffness and hesitation.

Her mouth is stuck open and she _knows_ she looks like a stupid idiot, but Cesare’s mouth is hanging open too as he pants lustfully, shock and amazement and awe written all over his face. “Are you sure?” he breathes on more time, and she nods _yes, of course, don’t be stupid, this is perfect, thank you, I love you,_ when he finally grasps her, one hand sticky with her fluids, and hoists her onto his lap, positioning her right above his cock.

“Whenever you’re ready, my love.” He locks eyes with her as she slowly lowers herself onto his length. The fullness is not unpleasant, not like the last time; in fact, all of her fleeting memories of every sexual experience before this vanish at the sheer perfection and comfort of their union.

Cesare bites his lip and lets out a stifled groan when she engulfs him fully and rests on top of his thighs. “I’m...already-God, love” he mumbles, flustered. She laughs and kisses each of his eyelids, and then starts to rock back and forth, relishing the friction between them, the way his cock strokes her fully and thoroughly.

The urge to talk falls away as they become caught in each others’ eyes. Nothing else exists but this beautiful burn and the sticky, decadent grasping of their hands. Memories flash in Lucrezia’s mind; she remembers every moment he cared for her when she was sick, when he stuck up for her at school, when he would hold her as she cried, everything falls away in the face of _this_ beautiful, wonderful miracle made between them.

“Yes- please-ugh-I love...ough.” Cesare closes his eyes and groans into her shoulder as he comes in several spurts, his body shaking with the effort. Lucrezia feels the warmth flood inside of her and she sighs with happiness and lets her head rest on him as well.

They stay entwined for a few moments, before Cesare stirs restlessly. “I, uhm, I think my muscles are starting to seize up,” he mumbles awkwardly into her hair.

She giggle and raises her head up the same time as he does. Their eyes meet and the world melts away as they smile, ecstatic and enraptured. Feeling stiffness in her joints as well, Lucrezia flops onto the bed, pulling him down with her as well. Reflexively, she nestles into the crook of his arm and nuzzled her nose into his chest.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” she slurs sleepily.

Cesare doesn’t respond, his mind still reeling from the night events, but she doesn’t even care.

“I love you so much,” she breathes, before falling into a glorious, relaxed, and finally sated sleep.           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, feel free to check out my one-shot in this verse called "You're My Present This Year." It's a little holiday gift to all of you guys!
> 
> Oh, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter ;)


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing Cesare notices when he wakes up is the frilly, pink canopy above his head blocking his view of the ceiling. The second outlier is the scent of Aqualina’s Pink Sugar perfume wafting around his head and almost chocking him with its cloying sweetness. However, the third and most potent thing he notices is the extremely naked, extremely beautiful body of his sister nestled in his arms, her head tucked up under his chin.

_Oh my God. What have I...what have we done?_

Last night’s activities are a sleep-addled blur in his head, almost too amazing and fantastical to be believable. There’s a flash of Lucrezia’s face, thrown back in ecstasy; another moment there’s the feeling of her ass gripped in his hands. It’s only when she shifts in her sleep and something _wet_ and _warm_ leaks onto his thigh that his heart begins to pound and his cheeks color. Vivid images of last night flood his brain like a tidal wave and he starts to hyperventilate, feeling trapped in the mass of pink and gold blankets atop his sister’s bed.

Aided by stealth skills learned from sneaking out of many a bedroom in his youth, he lets his arm go limp and slides silently out of Lucrezia’s grip. She utters a nearly imperceptible mumble and burrows deeper into the pillows, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he’s finally free from her grip and crouches on the floor. He steps into his pyjama pants and ties the waistband with shaking hands, his teeth chattering with nerves and the early morning air. Luckily for him, the clock on her end table reads _5:37_ , early enough to sneak back to his room undiscovered.

Stealing one last glance at his angelic sister, he opens the door a crack and slips out into the hallway. Already his senses are in overdrive, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. He laughs at the absurdity of the situation. It’s only a quick one minute sprint to the safety of his room and, even if he were caught, what would come of it? He _lives_ here, for Christ’s sake. There’s no need to lurk around in the shadows like he’s fifteen and back at his high school girlfriend’s house.

“Hello?”

_Shit._

He flattens himself against the wall at the sound of his father’s voice, heart beating wildly, until the utter ridiculousness of the situation sinks into him. Taking a deep breath, he schools his features into the image of nonchalance and walks into the den like he owns the place.

Rodrigo is sitting in his favourite squashy armchair, gazing out of the floor to ceiling windows. He smiles when he notices Cesare.

“Well, you’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”

Cesare shrugs and slumps onto the couch next to him. “You could say that. Why are you up so early?”

“Why do you think? Have you forgotten the day?”

Counting back in his head, Cesare shakes his head in disbelief. “Sunday already? Gosh, time flies. You have your sermon ready?”

Rodrigo looks over at his son, his face displaying a myriad of complex emotions. “I’m pulling out an old one. To be honest, I haven’t really felt inspired lately.”

“Because of what happened?”

In a brief moment of candor, Rodrigo nods his head. “There are some things in this life that can shake a man’s faith, Cesare. Not break it, of course, but it can still take a beating. Now, I know that you’ve been mad at me; you think I haven’t stuck up for your sister. I just want you to know that there’s been a lot more going on behind the scenes. I’ve had to make a lot of sacrifices to keep us afloat, to keep this family going. Now when you get older you’ll understand.”

Cesare bites back a scathing response, shame filling his gut.

_As if I have any right to criticize the way he’s treated Lucrezia when I’ve..._

The two men sit in silence for a few minutes, Rodrigo’s head bowed in prayer while Cesare tries to slow his own racing heartbeat.   

Finally, Rodrigo raises his head and attempts another smile. “So, are you ready for your trip?”

“My what?”

He chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about your conference as well!”

“Oh shhh...” Cesare rubs at his face with his hands, shuddering when the musky scent of last night’s activities erupts from his unwashed fingers. “Ahhh, the Vancouver thing, that’s next weekend, right?”

“That’s right. Are you ready?”

“I prepped over a month ago. I’m pretty I’ve saved it to my email...if not, I guess I’ll have to go back to school and get my laptop.”

“I guess you will.” Rodrigo gazes at Cesare with a mixture of sympathy and condescension. “Remember son, this is a very important appearance for you. It’ll be good to get your name out there on your own.”

“I know.”

“And you’re bringing your assistant with you? That Mike fellow? Is he a private hire, or is he through the Association? We can pay for him, if you would like.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

For a moment, Rodrigo hums lightly to himself. Cesare bristles when he recognizes the tune. It’s the traditional hymn ‘Bringing in the Sheaves,’ notorious for being the song his father mumbles when he’s about to ask some tough questions.

Leaning back in his chair, Rodrigo finishes the last few notes of the refrain before fixing his son with a syrupy grin. “So Cesare,” he starts. “When will you be going back to school?”

“Hmmmm...” Cesare raises his eyebrows and picks at the edge of one of his fingernails. “I was meaning to talk to you about that. You see, I was thinking...” 

There’s a rustle from the hall, followed by a quiet “Hey.” Lucrezia pokes her head out from behind the wall a few seconds later, her face flushed with color. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“My darling, not at all,” Rodrigo coos. He stands and walks over to her. “You’re up early. Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, Papa, not at all.” She beams at him. “I slept quite well.”

“I can tell. You look better than you have in ages this morning. You’re so beautiful, my dear.” He turns to Cesare, beaming proudly. “Isn’t your sister beautiful, Cesare?”

Cesare’s palms start sweating. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” he grunts out, averting his eyes. He licks his lips nervously.

“What’s wrong, son? Can’t you see she looks wonderful this morning?” Rodrigo huffs. Cesare avoids eye contact, choosing to focus instead on the state of his fingernails.

Lucrezia squeezes her father’s shoulder. “Don’t mind him, Papa, he probably didn’t get much sleep last night.” She walks over to the couch and faces her brother.

“ You don’t think I look beautiful, Cesare?” Back facing Rodrigo, she freely quirks an eyebrow at Cesare and smirks. He shoots a glare at her.

Sensing some tension in the air, Rodrigo clears his throat. “I’m going to put on a pot of coffee. Cesare, would you like some? We can resume our conversation later, if you would like.”

“Yes, _please,”_ Cesare forces out through clenched teeth. As soon as their father leaves the room, he jumps off of the couch and closes in on Lucrezia. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he hisses.

To her credit, Lucrezia doesn’t cower under the stare of her taller sibling. Instead she rounds on him, fists clenched. “What do you mean? I’m doing what we always do! Nothing needs to change the way we act at all, Cesare. You don’t need to get your panties in a knot all of a sudden or else they’ll figure out that _something’s going on_!”

“Nothing’s _going_ on!” Hand on the small of her back, he pushes her down the hallway to his bedroom and shuts the door behind them. “Nothing is going on,” he repeats. “I’m not your little boyfriend or your fuck buddy or whatever. We made a mistake, and that’s that.”

He turns away from her and leans his hands against the wall for support. Being around her after...after what happened last night is both infuriating and intoxicating. Secretly in the back of his mind he thought that things would be easier once they consummated their relationship; that the tension would dissipate and things would go back to normal. However, as Lucrezia pointed out, they never really were _normal_ and, instead of disappearing, the tension has multiplied exponentially. After all, he’s tasted her, both literally and figuratively, and now his body desperately craves more.

“This is so like you.” Lucrezia pulls on his left shoulder until he faces her. Arms crossed, her eyes flash dangerously at him. “You just think yourself out of things. You come up with problems and issues instead of just seizing the opportunities that come to you.” Her lip curls. “You’re such a pussy.”

Cesare snaps. Encircling the back of her neck with his hand, he pulls her face upward so that their lips meet in a violent, sloppy kiss. She groans and throws her arms around his neck, catching him off balance and causing them both to tumble awkwardly back onto his bed in a mass of hair and kisses.

Inexplicably, it’s even better than last night. Even though he’s always been attracted to the new, to the unknown, there’s something comforting about tasting his sister’s mouth for a second day, something satisfying in the fact that he’s been here before and will most taste this again.   

Scraping his teeth against her lips rewards him with a deep, throaty moan that makes his blood rush to his pants. He inhales the warm scent of her skin mixed with the stale odor of sleep and sex, so intimate and beautiful and so _Lucrezia._ She’s already squirming out of her pyjamas and grinding firmly against his thigh, and the thought of _it_ happening again makes him so scared and excited that he starts shaking.     

Regaining a modicum of control over his senses, Cesare pushes himself off of the bed and runs a trembling hand through his hair. He points to the ground. “ _This_ is not the new normal,” he pants, thrusting his finger wildly. “We can’t live like this, always sneaking around until we inevitably get caught. We can’t let this control us!”

“You keep telling yourself,” Lucrezia counters. She hoists herself up on her elbows, unfazed by the fact that one of her breasts has escaped from her tank top, pried down by her brother’s eager hands. “I’m not going to waste my breath making promises I know I won’t keep.”

She smiles a true smile that lights up her entire face and Cesare is momentarily mesmerized until a loud rap on the door breaks him out of his stupor.

“Jesus Christ. Oh shit,” he hisses, instinctively pressing his hands over his erection. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Cesare, are you two fighting?” It’s their mother. “You know we don’t like it when you two fight behind closed doors. Come out and we can talk about it.”

“Just give us a minute, mother,” Lucrezia chides. “We’re adults now; we can solve our own problems.”

Vanozza sighs. “Okay, but come out soon.”

They wait until they hear her footsteps retreating into the den before they resume normal breathing patterns. Cesare shakes his head. “You see? This is why we can’t keep on doing this!”

“Relax.” Lucrezia tilts her head to the side as she adjusts her clothing to more acceptable levels of coverage. “We’re really actually quite lucky because we don’t need to sneak around. Think about it. You’re so nervous because you think people suspect something, but the honest truth is that they have no idea! We _live together_ Cesare! We see each other all the time and we’re allowed to be alone together and no one thinks it’s weird.”

“And you see this as a blessing?” He laughs. “I see it as a form of inhumane torture.”

She wrinkles her nose and smacks him on the shoulder. “Don’t be dumb.”

“What? It was a compliment!” For a moment, he forgets the context of their conversation, instead choosing to bask in the perfect camaraderie of their interactions. In response to her twisted face, he sticks out his tongue and grins when she smiles.

“Gosh, Cesare, why can’t you be normal like this all the time?” She leans back on the bed, her long blonde hair cascading over his pillows. “Why can’t things just go back to normal?”

He lies down next to her, casually brushing her curls with his finger. “Normal? You mean normal except with kissing and fucking, don’t you?”

She cocks her head to the side and gives him a devilish grin. “You know me too well. Yes, normal except for kissing and... stuff.” She blushes.

“Oh Jesus.” Cesare’s stomach twists. “I just don’t know if I can ever get used to you talking about this. About us. Having...it happen isn’t really making things less weird.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it? It kind of feels like there’s two sides of us, you know. Like, you’re my brother, but you’re also, uhh.” She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “I feel so cheesy right now.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cheesy all right. Cheesy and fucked up.”

They lie together for a moment, Cesare’s fingers carding through her long hair, frizz be damned.  He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to ruin this relaxing moment between them. He finally spits out, “So...I don’t know.”

Lucrezia props herself up on one elbow. “You don’t know what?”

He just stares at her, brow furrowed.

“Okay, so I do know what.” She sighs. “You’re just over thinking things again. Stop over analyzing pretend situations you keep making up in your head. Think of all of the things to come. All of the things you could teach me.” Caressing his hand lightly, she lifts his index finger to her mouth and gently slides it in between her lips.

An inhuman noise spills out of Cesare’s mouth as his finger is enveloped in the heat and suction of her persistent mouth. “Ahhh, really sis, I just, ungh, I just need to thinks about things a bit. Please, just give me some time.”

“Suit yourself.” She forms the words slowly, her tongue sliding over his finger. “Take all the time you need.”

“Oh God.” He closes his eyes, air hissing from between his teeth. “Well, I’m going on a trip in a week. How about I give you an answer after I get back...that should be enough time.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls his finger out of her mouth. “I honestly don’t see what you need to think about. This is fate, Cesare!”

“Fate. Well, fate’s going to have to wait a week or two for me to decide on whether I’m going along with its little plan here.” He sighs and stares into her wide grey eyes. “Just give me some time, my love, I swear it. With each day the right decision will get easier, I promise.”

  ***

It doesn’t.

If anything, life _post-coitus_ becomes even more complicated and tense than anything before that fateful night. Living in close proximity and seeing each other every day, knowing that they’re always within arm’s reach of each other makes everyday living that much more strange and titillating. Cesare catches himself staring all the time, especially when she’s in an animated conversation with another person. There’s something about seeing her so alive and charismatic and knowing that she’s _his_ and will always be his that’s strangely erotic.

Of course, his father’s constant comments about her beauty, or the fact that she’s ‘recovered so suddenly’ and ‘gotten hew glow back’ only serve to taunt his reserve. How can he deny his sister the one thing that seems to truly help her? He’s constantly haunted by the memory of Lucrezia only a week ago, sobbing in his arms on her hospital bed, drained of all vitality. Compared with her now...well it’s almost enough to make him run into her arms again.

_Almost._

Every night becomes a battle of self-restraint as he lies alone in his bed, his cock aching for attention, with the knowledge that his sister is ready and waiting only twenty steps away. Every morning becomes a game of stolen glances and prolonged stares when he’s sure she won’t notice. Every day is a chore; he’s constantly tense and flushed and sick and aroused, and everything becomes so awkward, awkward enough that he’s praying for his trip to come just so that he can escape the oppressive environment of his home.

However his breaking point comes, as many things do, not with a bang but with a whimper. Thursday nights have become Family Dinner nights at the Borgia household, spearheaded by Vanozza and Gioffre who rarely if ever see their other family members outside of a passing morning greeting. This particular Thursday features a tuna casserole prepared by the youngest Borgia, along with a loaf of Vanozza’s famous foccacia.

They’re just sitting down to eat, all six of them, when Rodrigo decides to announce, “I think we should say a special prayer for Cesare. After all, tomorrow will be his first solo conference, and he needs all the prayer he can get. A special case of divine intercession.”

Juan chuckles into his plate of food. Cesare scowls.

“What do you mean by that?” he says, his voice tense.

“Well, I’m just saying...” Rodrigo shrugs. “You haven’t been out on your own before. You need some prayer because, and we all know this, your first presentation is a make it or break it moment. This will be your first time out on your own...I just don’t think you really capable of understanding the magnitude of this coming weekend.”

“Rodrigo...” Vanozza says with a low voice. “Don’t. You’re making him nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, _Mother,”_ Cesare responds, but he can’t quite hide the quaver in his voice. Lucrezia stares at him mid-gulp, her eyes wide over the rim of her glass. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I’m not nervous. Just because I’m not fretting around like you do doesn’t mean I’m not taking this opportunity seriously.”

“Fretting around?” Rodrigo’s mouth falls open. “I _pray_ and _meditate_ before all of my sermons. I read the Bible and study and cross reference for days! What have you done? You’ve been here for _two weeks_ and I haven’t seen you do anything. Sure, you say that you’ve prepared beforehand, but I’m just concerned that you don’t understand how important this is.”

“You’re _concerned._ You’re concerned about me. Story of my life. ‘Go to this school, Cesare, I’m _concerned_ that you aren’t taking your future seriously. Wear these clothes, Cesare, I’m _concerned_ that your appearance isn’t acceptable. My entire life has been you criticizing my choices under the guise of being concerned!”

He pushes his plate aside and stands up. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“But it’s family dinner night,” Gioffre whispers from his corner of the table.

Cesare shrugs. “Sorry, bud. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

He stalks out of the dining room, his footsteps loud and obnoxious on the hardwood floor. Lucrezia takes one look around the table at her family members’ shocked and appalled expressions and then takes off after him.

She follows him into his bedroom and shuts the door quietly behind them. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

Groaning to himself, he slumps onto his bed and mashes his face into his hands. “If I say no, will you leave me alone?”

She laughs. “Hell no. I can always tell when you’re on the verge of a breakdown.” Squatting down in front of him, she attempts to pry his fingers from the front of his face. “Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

He stares at her, his dark eyes swollen with tears. “I just...I just feel like I’m completely out of touch with reality. Like, what if he’s right? What if I don’t really know what’s going on? What if they all hate me and I’m branded an idiot for the rest of my career? I just feel like since...since...”

Lucrezia looks at him expectantly. “Since we... did it?”

His flushes. “No, no, since before that. Since the thing with Gio Sforza- I’ve just felt my grip on reality slipping away. I feel like I’m trying to juggle all these obligations, but it’s getting harder and harder for me to actually see them, to actually _really care_ about what’s going on. It’s like what Micheletto said.”

“Who’s Micheletto?” She laughs. “Is he that creepy ginger guy I see following me around all the time?”

“Oh God, you’ve noticed? Yeah, that’s him. I’m sorry.”

Shaking her head, she takes one of his hands in hers and lays a gentle kiss on his fingers. “Don’t be. I suspected he was some guy of yours that you sent to watch over me. I mean, I imagined it...never thought it was actually true.” She pauses thoughtfully. “It’s sweet...in a very _you_ way.”

“I meant it.” Cesare strokes her slightly opened lips with his index finger. “Anyways, he told me that everything begins to blur after you ki... take someone’s life. All the rules disappear and the walls fall down. I’m really feeling that now and, to be honest, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Do whatever you want. After Gio raped me,” she says in a steady voice, “I felt like that. I felt like my soul kept on escaping my body. I think they call it disassociation, and it happens when something traumatic happens. I read my pamphlet, that’s why I know this. Well, I guess the same thing happened to you.” She raises herself up on her knees until she is at eye level with her brother. “So I’m going to give you the same bit of advice that someone gave me. Just do what you want. Think of something that makes you happy and then go for it.”

Cesare looks at her with a sad smile. “I feel like you have ulterior motives behind this advice.”

“So what if I do? It still worked for me. I don’t give a fuck about the fact that I love you because, and let’s be honest here, sometimes the thought of seeing you is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning.”

Letting his hand slide up her face, he cups her head, fingers sliding through her hair. “Oh Lucrezia...”

“Shhh. I’m not done yet. All I wanna say is that you’re honestly the most amazing guy I have ever met. Fuck Papa and his stupid fake concern about your life. Frankly I just think he’s jealous that you’re more talented and charismatic than he’ll ever be.” She smiles, her eyes twinkling. “I see so much in you. I see the way other people look at you, how they trust you and want to be you and I just...you’re an intoxicating person, Cesare, and you just need to find out the full potential of your powers.”

“You make me sound like a super hero, sis.”

She grasps his tear stained face and stares at him. “You’re my super hero,” she breathes, and then kisses him on the mouth, warmly but chastely. Pulling away before things start getting too heated, she bites her lip coyly and adds,” And I think you’re going to be amazing.”

“Thanks.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes. “And I promise that once I get back we’ll talk.”

“Of course.” She looks up him through her lashes. “But I think I’m pretty sure I know your answer.”

Thoughts of his conference, living arrangements, school, everything spins around in Cesare’s head like a whirlwind. The questions he keeps asking himself, the hypothetical scenarios of _When? Where?_ and _How Long?_ keep popping up.

_How long will this go on? What will happen if we ever...break up, if that’s even possible? Can we maintain this once I move out, once we have our own places and our own jobs? What if we get caught? Can I go to jail for this?_

_Stop._

He stares at her, grim determination written on his face. “Yes,” he responds finally. “Yes, I’m pretty sure you do.”  

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Cesare adjusts his tie in the mirror and takes another gargle of mouthwash. He’s about to check the time for the fortieth time in the past twelve minutes when there’s a knock on his hotel room door.

“Come in!”

Micheletto pokes his head into the bathroom and Cesare grins. “Why Micheletto, you look almost...human.” He gestures at the other man’s crisp suit and paisley tie. “This should be your new look.”

“It’s too hard to get blood out of shirt sleeves, and this wardrobe’s a bit too expensive to replace every time I go out for a job,” Micheletto deadpans. “But thanks for the compliment.”

Cesare gives his hair one last adjustment and then grabs his jacket and exits his room. He shakes his head, trying to pump himself up for this awkward pre-conference meet and greet that everyone seems to be subjected to. They take the thankfully empty elevator downstairs to the lobby while Cesare mutters the names of various high ranking denomination officials under his breath.

“Just relax,” Micheletto instructs. “You’re a natural.”

The doors open and the smell of cheap cologne and stale bodies wafts into the elevator car. Cesare stands up straight, shoulders back, and walks into the hall with purpose, his sister’s various words of encouragement running through his head.

Sure enough, everyone seems more intimidated by him then he is of them. Various pastors mill around him, asking about his father, his time at seminary, his talk for tomorrow night...but mostly about his father, each one coming up with more convoluted and elaborate links between themselves and the Borgia patriarch.

“CESARE BORGIA!”

Caught mid-thought, Cesare looks around wildly for the source of the yell. Once he finds it, his heart skips a beat.

It’s Ursula Bonar, her once flowing curls chopped off into a bob that suits her long face. She’s sitting at a small booth a few feet away from them, surrounded by piles of hardcover books. “Oh gosh! Fancy seeing you here!”

Cesare grimaces instinctively, then quickly schools his face into a wide eyed smile. “Yeah...so weird...besides the fact that I’m the keynote speaker.”

Micheletto coughs.

Unfazed, Ursula waves her arm at them. “Come over here! I want to see you!”

Palms growing sweaty, Cesare raises his eyebrows at Micheletto, who shrugs and mutters, “What harm could it do? She can’t get away with killing you in this crowd.”

“True.”

The two men cautiously walk over to the modest corner booth situated amidst a sea of minor Christian authors. Ursula smiles at both of them, an almost deranged look to her eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Cesare!”

He stares at her for a moment, his mouth slightly open, before responding. “Yeah! It’s great to see you too! You...ah...you wrote a book, I see?”

“Yes! It’s a memoir of sorts, about my life with David...you know. Well, of course you know.” She blushes. “You should hang out with me for a bit...I could fill you in on some details.”

Cesare wishes at that moment that the plush carpeted floor of the conference center would open up and swallow him whole. He panics and glances over at Micheletto, eyes wide. “Oh...no, we can’t. We’re actually going to go meet with his mother for coffee!”

The other man nods stiffly, the consummate professional, his obvious discomfort not apparent on his face. “Yes. We should actually get going, sorry. I think she’s waiting.”

“Oh of course!” Ursula slides a copy of her book across the table. “Please read this, Cesare. It would mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, totally.” Cesare makes to grab the book and instead just taps it awkwardly. “I’ll...pick it up on the way back. We really ought to go, and I didn’t bring a bag.”

“Oh yeah, of course!” she says again. Cocking her head, she gives him a beautiful smile. “It was really great to see you, Cesare. I felt really bad about what happened, and I want you to know that I don’t blame you. Even though things ended badly. I understand now that you really did want to liberate me, and I’m happy you did. Now I’m a free, self sufficient woman who doesn’t have to deal with those old fundamentalists any more.”

Cesare’s stomach flips. “Right, uh.”

“We, uhm, need to get going,” Micheletto points at his phone. “The time and all.”

“Right, right.” She purses her lips and nods. “Well, we obviously met for a reason. Keep in touch?”

“Uh, yeah, totally.” Cesare hurries out of the hall, Micheletto hot on his heels. Once they make it to the main doors, he turns to his companion. “Well, that wasn’t weird at all.”

“No, of course not.”

“You, uh, you don’t think she’s stalking me, do you?”

Micheletto grimaces. “I couldn’t say. However, you should probably read her book. You know, just in case.”

“Yeah, totally.”

The two of them walk through the revolving glass door and into the crisp air of the downtown core. Squinting, Micheletto spots a cab, then turns to face Cesare.

“Are you actually serious about going to see my mother? We don’t have to go.”

Cesare smiles. “No, I want to meet her! It would be nice; hopefully take my mind off of that weird encounter.”

“Suit yourself.” Micheletto walks up to a cap and gingerly slides into the front seat. Cesare takes the back and slips his phone out of his pocket.

Micheletto addresses the driver. “Empress Hotel, please. Hastings and Main.”

“I know where it is.” The driver glances back at Cesare’s immaculate Armani suit and raises an eyebrow. “You sure, man? You’re not thinking of the other Empress? The one on the Island?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the driver mumbles “Your funeral,” and pulls onto the street.

Cesare looks up from his list of talking points on his phone and grins at Micheletto. “Empress Hotel. Sounds nice.”

The driver snorts. “Define ‘nice.’”

“Is it not nice? I thought it was only a few blocks away.”

“A lot can change in a few blocks,” Micheletto says. He faces forward, his neck stiff and his expression impassive.

Cesare glances out the window at the multiple Starbucks locations and fancy hotels rushing by. He feels as though both Micheletto and the driver are aware of some sort of secret that he isn’t in on, and he absolutely _hates_ being left out. He fancies himself a man of the world but now, faced with a city he knows nothing about in a country directly north of his own, Cesare realises that he has a long way to go.

The driver makes a right turn down a bustling street and, all of a sudden, they are thrust into a different neighbourhood. The buildings are shorter and dirtier, and many look abandoned or boarded up. There are rough looking people sitting all over the sidewalks, and many cross the road without any deference to traffic, as though the road was their own personal game of Frogger.

The car stops in front of a run-down brick building. The dilapidated sign out front reads ‘Hotel Empress’ in dingy neon tubing and the front stoop is littered with vagrants and old needles. Clearing his throat, Micheletto exits the car and opens Cesare’s door. A whiff of stale urine and body odor blows into the backseat.

“ _God,_ ugh,” Cesare chokes. He hands the chuckling driver a fifty and exits the cab.

The less than desirable ambience doesn’t seem to faze Micheletto. Giving a quick nod to the people seated on the stoop, he opens the door and ushers Cesare inside. Unfortunately, the interior matches the exterior in both dinginess and odor, and Cesare clutches the sleeve of his Armani to his nose like an eighteenth century aristocrat visiting the ‘other side’ of town.

“Does Marie Corella still live here?” Micheletto asks a strung out man sitting behind the counter.

The man shakes his head. “Hasn’t been here for years, boy. We do have some lovely new ladies working with Saul though, if you’re interested.”

 “I don’t need just any lady, _boy._ Where is Marie Corella living now, Joe?” Micheletto bares his teeth menacingly, and the man squeaks with surprise.

“Mikey? Mikey! Where the hellva you been, man?” The counter man, Joe apparently, smiles nervously and extends his hand. Batting it away, Micheletto leans over the desk.

“My _mother,_ Joe. Where is she?”

“Last I saw she was next door, man. Chill, seriously.” Joe timidly raises himself to Micheletto’s eye level. “Hey, listen.  I know things were kind of bad with Harry and that cop, but I just want you to know that we were all on your side. You didn’t have to run, we would have stuck up for you.” The two lock eyes for a moment and Joe pats Micheletto’s hand reassuringly.

“Yes, I’m sure the testimonies of twenty dealers, pimps, and junkies would have exonerated me in an instant,” Micheletto replies dryly. Joe chuckles and slaps him lightly on the back.

“Yeah, well, it’s the thought that counts.” He gestures to Cesare. “Who’s this suit? Your new boyfriend?”

“Fuck you, Joe Comeau,” Micheletto spits, shaking his head. “He’s... nobody.”

Joe laughs. “Well you and _nobody_ should go next door pretty soon if you want to catch your Mama before she goes on her afternoon rounds.”

“Thanks.”

As they head outside, Joe calls after them. “Hey Mikey! Come back for a brewski before you leave, eh?”

“We’ll see,” Micheletto mumbles.

Cesare has to admit, compared to the dank hotel interior, the slightly breezy outdoors are minutely more bearable. He squints at the bright sunlight, and turns to Micheletto.

“He seemed...nice.”

“Define nice,” Micheletto grumbles. He gestures half-heartedly to the Empress. “So, this is where I was born.”

“What? You mean literally?”

Micheletto nods. “My mum lived there off and on for the first fifteen years of my life.” He shrugs. “I guess it was better than next door.”

“The pizza place? Yeah, I guess so.” Cesare chuckles. “I’m just kidding. Next door doesn’t look too bad.”

Micheletto looks over at the ornate, white stone building next to the Empress. “The Center? No, that’s not what I mean.” He leads Cesare over to a dark alley in between the two buildings. “ _This_ is next door.”

 The alley is full of people in various stages of intoxication and impairment. Cesare chokes back a sneeze at the stench wafting from the enclosed space, but resists the urge to bury his nose back into his sleeve.  There are primarily women here, and from the look of their clothing most are prostitutes. Spotting his expensive suit, several of the women slink towards him.

“I normally don’t start for a couple of hours, but I’ll make an exception for _you.”_

“Well, aren’t _you_ a sweet thing.” One of the women licks her lips comically. “I’d love a little taste.”

“We’re looking for Marie Corella,” Micheletto barks. The closest lady wrinkles her nose.

“That old thing? She’s in the back, next to the dumpster.”

Wading through the people, Cesare glances over at Micheletto, who has a look of grim determination written over his face.

_I’m sorry I asked you to come back. I didn’t know._

There looks to be a pile of old sweaters piled next to the dumpster. However, upon closer inspection, Cesare notices a shock of red human hair poking out of the pile.

Micheletto walks up to the pile and gently pokes it. “Mum?”

At the sound of her son’s voice, the little redheaded bundle wrapped in threadbare sweaters twitches. With a final shudder, the wrinkled face of Micheletto’s beloved mother slowly emerges from the clothing like a snail emerging from its shell. Though her skin is pock marked and weathered, Cesare can still see the resemblance between mother and son.

“Micheletto? Is that you?”

“Yes, mum.” Micheletto squats down and gently strokes his mother’s face. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, life is life.” She laughs nervously. “Who is your friend?”

“He’s my boss, mum.”

“From the hospital? Is he a doctor like you?”

Micheletto turns to Cesare and nods slowly. “Yes, mum. He is teaching me.”

Marie Corella turns to Cesare and clasps one of his hands with her own. She shakes uncontrollably. “Thank you, Doctor. And isn’t he the smartest young man you’ve ever seen?”

“Uh, yes. You’ve raised a wonderful son, Ms Corella.”

“Yes, and he’s so handsome too.” She turns back to Micheletto and pinches his cheek. “He takes after his father. Have you seen him recently, dear?”

Micheletto’s face goes dark. “No mum, but I’ll keep you posted if I do.”

“Thank you. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure. He loves me so much.” She grins, revealing a mouth full of yellow, decaying teeth. Cesare resists the urge to shudder.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work. I’m a famous opera singer, you know. The gentlemen are lining up to give me roses.” She leans dangerously close, her breath wafting over his nose. Tooth decay and cigarettes. “Sometimes they give me secrets too.”

“I know, mum,” Micheletto says, and helps her to her feet. The sweaters fall away, revealing her dangerously thin body clad only in a holey polyester slip. Cesare sees a flash of nipple and hastily averts his eyes as she wanders out of the alley and onto the street.

Micheletto takes in Cesare’s pale face and scrunched nose. “Would you be up for a latte? There’s probably five different Starbucks locations in a two block radius. If you’re wanting a more authentic Canadian experience, there’s also Second Cup and Tim Hortons.”

“What about your ‘brewski ‘with Joe?”

“It can wait.”

Giving a final glance to Marie Corella, who seems to be attempting to seduce a police officer half her age, Cesare sighs and nods. “Starbucks it is.”

***

“What the fuck?”

Micheletto nods silently as Cesare stares at his Americano incredulously.

“No seriously, what the fuck?”

“Well, we didn’t have to go. I told you many times, I would be fine without seeing her.”

“No, it’s not that.” Grimacing, Cesare pushes the cup across the table. “It’s just that… I don’t know. These last couple days have been really intense for me, and seeing your mom…where you grew up. It’s kind of like the turd icing on a really fucked up garbage cake of a time.”

“Turd icing, eh?” Micheletto takes a large bite of chocolate danish. “Sounds delicious.”

“Heh. Yeah. Sorry. Lately I’ve been feeling like a teenage girl, with all my emotions flopping around. My father’s been pressuring me to do well at this thing, to make the Association and the family proud. On the other hand, my sister has been trying to raise my self esteem, I guess.” He blushes slightly. “Or something.”

“Right. So, what does this have to do with the turd sandwich?”

“Turd _icing,_ Micheletto. The turd is on top of everything else, like a garnish. Like parsley.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “The thing is the parsley is always the last finishing touch. I feel like all of this build up and pressure, seeing Ursula, plus this experience of seeing your mom and all the other… _lovely_ people down town, I just feel like there’s a turning point coming for me.”

Micheletto picks at the crumbs on his plate. “Well, that’s good for you, isn’t it?”

“I guess so. Turning points are never easy though.”

“Hey.” Impulsively, Micheletto lays a reassuring hand on top of Cesare’s. Both men freeze, the awkwardness almost too much to bear, until Micheletto stiffly pats Cesare’s hand and then slowly retracts his own. “Uh. You’ll do fine. We’re all rooting for you.”

“That’s, like, the lamest thing you have ever said to me. ‘We’re all rooting for you.’ No one’s rooting for me, they’re just hoping I won’t embarrass myself tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well…” Micheletto takes a sip of his latte. “What will you be hopefully not embarrassing yourself with tomorrow? Some good stuff? Good…Bible…stuff?”

“No, I was thinking about using all of those bad parts of the Bible that everyone hates. Isaiah four one, ‘In that day seven women will take hold of one man saying, “We will eat our own food and provide our own clothes; only let us be called by your name!”’”

Micheletto snorts. “Sounds like my mum.”

“Oh geez. No, not that. I’m speaking on a part of Hebrews that talks about community. To be honest, I didn’t really have anything. Still don’t, really. I got caught up in all the stuff with my sister and, well, this weekend just slipped my mind.”

“Well, don’t your kind have a phrase for that? Maybe it was ‘God’s will?’”

“God’s will in procrastination.” Cesare laughs. “My father would die.”

***  
 “Brothers and sisters.”

Not even twelve hours later, he finds himself behind a podium, sweat streaming out of his palms, with no more fucking ideas.

_So much for procrastination becoming the new predestination._

He stares at his note cards, hastily written in childish chicken scratch, and then gazes out into the crowd. A sea of unfamiliar smiles, mostly older Caucasian gentlemen with beards, look back at him, their faces calm and expectant. Scratching the stubble on his chin, he suddenly pauses when he realises something.

_I’m turning into them. They want me to conform to them, be like them, carry the flag for the next generation._

_Make us proud. Represent us. Don’t embarrass yourself…don’t embarrass_ us _._

The events of the two months flash through his head. _The Reverend’s death. Meeting Micheletto. Ursula. Phil Bonar. The True Love Waits tour. Lucrezia’s rape. Killing Gio._

He closes his eyes and relishes his favourite memory.  _Making love with Lucrezia._

_Father’s words. Pressure. Magnitude. Make it or break it time. Make it or break it._

He opens his eyes.

_Break it._

Resolved, he sets his cards down on the podium. From the back corner, Micheletto raises his eyebrows, but Cesare stands firm.

“Brothers and sisters!” he repeats with a dazzling grin on his face, his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering into his lapel mic. “How many of you partake in alcoholic beverages?”

A titter runs through the crowd.

“C’mon! How many of you drink? You can admit it!” He raises his arms in the air. “This is a safe place.”

Naturally, not many of the teetotaling Baptists are comfortable with admitting their alcoholic tendencies. Finally, a young women who looks to be in her mid-twenties raises her hand from the second row.

“Lovely! Someone truthful at a Baptist convention! Who would have guessed?” He diffuses the tension in the room with a quick wink that ultimately leaves half of the crowd furious and the other half titillated. “So, I suppose then not many of you are wine drinkers? What a shame. Jesus drank a lot of wine, and I’m sure he would have loved to share a glass with all of you.”

Clearing his throat, he licks his lips and continues. “I suppose some of you here are wondering why I’m taking about wine at a Baptist convention. I assure you, I’m not here to stir the pot. No, unfortunately I’m here in the spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ to flip the pot over on itself! I am here to rebuke each and every one of you here who has contributed to the propagation of lies and slander through our Church, lies and slander that have been festering and breeding here for decades.”

A couple of burly men on the sidelines make to stand up, but Cesare waves a strong hand in their direction. “Let me speak! I’ve already been paid, so let me speak. I want you all to get your money’s worth.”

The two men sit down, confused and embarrassed expressions on their faces.

“Thank you. Now, back to the wine.” Pulling his iPhone from his pocket, Cesare scrolls to one of his favourite passages. “Luke five, verses thirty-three to thirty nine. Holman Christian Standard, of course.  ‘Then they said to him, “John’s disciples fast often and say prayers, and those of the Pharisees do the same, but Yours eat and drink.” Jesus said to them, “You can’t make the wedding guests fast while the groom is with them, can you? But the time will come when the groom will be taken away from them—then they will fast in those days.”’

‘He also told them a parable: “No one tears a patch from a new garment and puts it on an old garment. Otherwise, not only will he tear the new, but also the piece from the new garment will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the new wine will burst the skins, it will spill, and the skins will be ruined. But new wine should be put into fresh wineskins. And no one, after drinking old wine, wants new, because he says, ‘The old is better.’”’

Smiling to himself, Cesare pockets his phone and smiles out to the crowd. Several excited looking faces smile back at him amidst a mass of disgruntled others. “I can see that we’re mostly on the same page now. I’m happy that many of you seem to understand where I’m going to be going with my message; it makes it more apt.”

“Now, I have to admit…I love this passage. I love its depth and its richness. I love Jesus’s frank discussion of wine and, most of all, I love the consideration given to the old and the new here in these parables. For the sake of brevity, I will only be talking about the second of the two examples given but, judging by the answer to my little poll at the beginning, maybe I should have focused on the former since there’s no shame in admitting that you wear clothes.”

“The setting for this passage is, appropriately enough, a banquet. During the meal, several people ask questions about why Jesus and his disciples don’t fast and make prayers like the Pharisees. Honestly, these are valid questions. After all, it can be confusing when leaders sometimes don’t follow the same regulations or practices as their predecessors.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cesare notices Dr. Peters whispering with a large bald man next to him. Both men nod their heads and settle back into their seats, so he continues. “Jesus assures the part guests that there will be times when his follows will adhere to the old ways, maybe out of mourning or necessity. But here’s where it gets tricky. He continues by bringing up these two infamous mini-parables. Both concern themselves with the incorporation of the new into the old. In both of these parables, the introduction of the new ends up destroying the old and the new.”

“Now where does that leave us? On one hand, he says that the new will eventually embrace the old, and on the other hand he says the new will destroy the old. How are we to reconcile these statements? Actually, it’s quite easy, we just have to take it a step at a time. We know that patching the old with the new will destroy both garments and, most importantly, old wineskins cannot stretch to accommodate the growth of new wine. Therefore, the new cannot be _forced into_ the old without the destruction of both.”

He falls silent for a moment.

“I ask you now, _why then_ do you insist on forcing your youth into the same legalistic regulations that you bind yourselves with? _Why then_ do you constrain your congregations with the wineskins of abstinence, homophobia, racism, sexism taught under the guise of ‘morality?’ Is it no wonder then that young people are leaving the church in droves when you attempt to cut them up and stitch them to the old garment of capitalistic patriarchy that was created hundreds of years ago?”

An angry murmur begins to rise out of the crowd, but Cesare stands firm, pinning them to their seats with the intensity of his words. “Granted, Jesus does give a caveat to the banquet attendees. He does note that his followers may one day fast in his absence, when times grow grim. However, note that he doesn’t say that they will fast because of regulations or rules, or even because he commands them to. No, they will fast when they are sad and in mourning because their bridegroom has been taken.  And yes, he was taken. Nevertheless, what is it we say to each other? CHRIST HAS RISEN!”

A half hearted “ _He has risen indeed_!” echoes from somewhere in the hall.

“You’ve got it! We aren’t in mourning. What do we sing to each other in church on Sunday? ‘The joy of the Lord is my strength…’ There is no joy in mourning. And there is no joy in being forced into the wineskins of the past.”

Cesare walks out from behind the podium. Facing the crowd, he pulls off his crisp suit jacket and tosses it onto the floor.

“Brothers and sisters, I have visited your streets. I have seen the dirt and depravity that plagues your fellow human beings; I have smelled what they live in every day. But then I walked in here, and do you know what I smelled?” He cocks his nose into the air mockingly. “I’ll give you a hint, Jesus talks about it at the end of our passage. He says, ‘And no one, after drinking old wine, wants new, because he says, ‘The old is better.’” Old wine is clearer, more developed and alcoholic than the young grape juice, richer… richer even than some of you old guys here today. And when someone drinks a little _too_ much old wine, well they get drunk.”

“Well let me tell you, when I walked into this conference hall, the air was sweet. Sweet like a room full of people drunk on their own self-righteous oppression. You have been so steeped in your false doctrines that you positively reek of it. And there lies the cusp of my talk to you today. After all, who would, after drinking the old wine of judgement and legalism for fifty years, would want to make room for the new?”

The room is silent. Cesare pulls his tie off over his head, throws it on top of his jacket, and unbuttons the top button of his collar. “Okay, that’s all for me. Who has any questions they would like to ask?”

The crowd explodes in a mass of yells, camera flashes, and arms waving in the air. The burly men from earlier run to the front of the hall and extend their arms, forming a human shield. Even Micheletto’s distinctive ginger hair is lost in the writhing pit of angry vipers ready to sink their teeth into their new favorite enemy.

And, amidst the chaos, Cesare laughs.

    

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! My chapters seem to be getting longer :O
> 
> If anyone's interested, I've made a playlist for this fic and posted it on my tumblr. I'll link to it on my tumblr's sidebar, and the link to my actual tumblr is in my profile. Wow, that was an awkward sentence.


	20. Chapter 20

_Five days later._

**START TRANSCRIPT: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart   14.11.13**

[ _applause_ ]

JON STEWART: Now my guest of honor tonight is no stranger to controversy. In fact, the buzz around this guy is so huge right now, it was almost impossible for us to get him on such short notice. In less than a week, he has gone from being an absolute nobody to a tabloid and legitimate news sensation. Some may call it just a 15 minutes of fame but....

[ _STEWART bites his lip and fans himself with his cards. Laughter_ ]

JS: Just...just listen to him talk. Yes, that’s why he’s here, so we can _listen_ to him. Ladies, gird your loins. Gentlemen, gird your ladies. Please welcome, CESARE BORGIA!

[ _applause. CESARE BORGIA enters._ ]

JS: So Cesare...sorry, may I call you Cesare?

CESARE BORGIA: Of course.

JS: Cesare...it’s great to see you.

CS: Great to see you as well. Thanks for having me.

JS: Oh, the pleasure’s all mine. Thank you for making time for us; I understand that things have been quite busy for you.

[ _BORGIA shrugs. Laughter._ ]

CS: Ehhhh...?

JS: Or another day’s work, I guess.

CS: I wouldn’t know. This is all pretty new for me.

JS: Pretty new? This is all pretty new for most of us. I mean, for me lampooning corrupt religious institutions is my day job, but the fact that you’ve made it onto almost every major news show is almost unprecedented! People are talking about this at work and on Twitter. It’s like people are finally wanting to critique and dissect these paragons of American morality! And you...! I just...okay, okay...

[ _STEWART raises his hands in the air. Laughter_ ]

JS: I think I’m getting a bit too excited here.

[ _Laughter_ ]

JS: Okay, so for those of you at home who don’t have internet or who haven’t talked to anyone in the past five days, here’s a little snippet of what my guest has been up to. This is a clip from his tirade a Christian conference in Vancouver, Canada. Check it out.

[ _Roll fuzzy clip of BORGIA passionately addressing a crowd_ ]

_“Well let me tell you, when I walked into this conference hall, the air was sweet. Sweet like a room full of people drunk on their own self-righteous oppression. You have been so steeped in your false doctrines that you positively reek of it. And there lies the cusp of my talk to you today. After all, who would, after drinking the old wine of judgement and legalism for fifty years, would want to make room for the new?”_

[ _Applause. Some members of the audience stand and whoop._ ]

JS: See, this is amazing for so many reasons! I honestly can’t recall the last time someone made this much of an impact in the mainstream media for a religious statement like that. I mean, there’s Fox News...

[ _STEWART faces the camera and dramatically rolls his eyes. Laughter_ ]

JS: ...but what you’re saying here is serious stuff, serious criticism levelled at church leaders, at your own father for Christsake! Oh sorry...I forgot.

[ _Laughter_ ]

CB: No, don’t worry about it.

[ _STEWART shakes his head_.]

JS: Forgot who I was talking to for a second. Okay! So, my only real question for you today, Cesare, is _why?_ Why now? What gave you the impression that this was the moment to pull the rug out from under these leaders? How did you know that your message would be so well received?

CS: Well, to be honest with you... I didn’t. I didn’t know that people would latch onto this and run with it. I had gotten to the point where I couldn’t go along with their games any more.

JS: Whose games? Who are these people to you?

CB: The church leaders? Friends of my father. They were people that had surrounded me for years, for as long as I can remember. You see, they tried to present themselves as family...

[ _BORGIA laughs_ ] 

CB: I remember they first introduced themselves as ‘ _Uncle’_ so-and-so, you know, to try to worm themselves in. It was such a joke.

JS: So these guys have known you for years, since you were little?

CB: Yeah, and some of them have been connected to my family since before that.

JS: Wow. So it took a lot of balls for you to waltz in to what was basically their party and then start dropping truth bombs like that.

CB: Well, they invited me.

JS: Oh, so they should have expected it then?

[ _Laughter_ ]

CB: I wish.

JS: So the media coverage of this has been _insane._ Truly. When I first heard about this, I gotta be honest with you, I was expecting something a little less enlightened to come out of your mouth.

[ _Laughter_ ]  

JS: Let’s be serious here! Evangelist’s son gaining wide mainstream media coverage for controversial speech at a conference? Publicity like that never goes to a person saying something _smart a_ nd _intelligent!_

CB: But here I am.

JS: Here you are. And thank you for that, by the way, it was very entertaining to watch. Did you know you were being filmed?

CB: Not consciously, but nowadays basically everything is filmed. I didn’t do it just so that I would end up on YouTube, if that’s what you’re asking.

JS: I’m not. It’s just really interesting that the only video we can find is, like, grainy, Blair Witch style footage. Sort of adds to the mystique.

CB: Seems more illicit, hey?

JS: Yeah, like we’ve stumbled across some sort of cultural revolutionary.

CB: That’s interesting, because the reason I was speaking at that conference is because it’s so small and off the map. My father and the other church leaders wanted me to start off with a minor conference just in case I screwed up my address. And, I guess in their eyes, I did. Whoops.

[ _Laughter and applause_ ]

JS: Nothing’s minor since the Internet. That’s funny. They wanted to hide you away, and now look at you.

[ _Cheers and applause_ ]

JS: Oh, and they’re looking. You’re a good looking guy, you know that?

CB: I’ve been told.

[ _Laughter_ ]

CB: I’m not going to pretend that that’s not why I’ve been getting a lot of attention. I know that there are others out there who have said the same critiques of the church and have gone mostly ignored, while I’ve gotten all of this fame and coverage. I mean, I realize that it’s easier to sell a story about a young, okay looking guy telling off a bunch of older executive types, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I’m standing on the shoulders of other liberal Christian leaders that have come before me.

[ _Applause_ ]  

JS: Well said. So, you see your youth as an advantage?

CB: I do, even though often in the church youth is seen as a liability. I also see myself as having a foot in each door. I was raised in the old culture; I was steeped in these traditional ideals that the old guard has perpetrated, so I know their justifications and the way they think. I went to their school and I listened to their lectures. However, I am young, and I know that their old way of thinking just doesn’t cut it for people any more. People want to rise up against the patriarchal, oppressive, homophobic force the Church has become, and I want to use my experience to help take down this institution from the inside.

[ _Applause_ ]

 JS: Do you still consider yourself on the inside? What does your family make of all this?

CB: Heh...I actually haven’t had a chance to talk to them recently. It’s just been a whirlwind. I know that things won’t be the same for me in the Association, if they even still consider me welcome there, and that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. As far as my family goes...I did this mostly for my family, for my siblings especially. I don’t want to get into details, because it’s not my story to tell, but the Association’s done some pretty [ _BEEP_ ] up stuff to my siblings. They shouldn’t have to live with that any more.

JS: Of course not.

CB: Things are going to come out, are _already s_ tarting to come out, and if my newfound fame is the reason for this, I am so thankful. Thankful for everyone who has forwarded or reblogged my speech, or has even talked about it with someone. Please, everyone, keep talking. Keep spreading this around so that we can fight the injustices and the hated perpetrated by institutions like the Association.

[ _Cheers and applause_ ]

JS: Amazing. You’re an amazing guy. So, I covered your actual speech earlier on in the week. Did you happen to see the clip?

CB: Yes, I did. Thank you for your compliments, they were... almost excessive.

[ _Laughter_ ]

JS: Awesome. And after meeting you, everything I said still stands. You are an intelligent, classy guy, Cesare Borgia, and I wish you all the best. Thank you so much for being here.

CB: Thank you again for having me.

JS: Cesare Borgia, ladies and gentlemen!

[ _Cheers and applause_ ]

**END TRANSCRIPT**

***  
Giulia blows into her mug of coffee, the steam rising up to cloud her reading glasses. They clear after a few seconds, revealing Ascanio and Rodrigo’s dour arguing faces across the room from her. She sighs and scrolls through the newsfeed on her iPad, bookmarking anything that pertains to Cesare’s recent...episode.

The past few days have been some of the most entertaining yet stressful moments of her life. Ascanio and Rodrigo have been arguing ever since the cell phone footage was released, only taking breaks to address various Association employees that bravely venture into the office. Everyone, pastors and interns and all those in between, has been on damage control, preaching sermons and consoling parishioners and giving soundbites to overly curious news sources.

As for her, well...

_It’s been like trying to calm a pair of tornados. Eventually you realise that you’re better off to just watch._

There’s a knock at the door that goes unnoticed by the duelling men in the corner, so Giulia rises out of her comfy armchair to answer it.

“Hello. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Giulia raises her eyebrows.

“Mrs. Borgia. No, not at all.” She opens the door wider to let the other woman in. “Please.”

Vanozza waltzes in with every bit of grace she can muster and promptly parks herself in front of the two men. Both of them stop their arguing to stare at her for a moment, wearing matching looks of astonishment.

Finally, Rodrigo’s face breaks into an ugly scowl. “This is all _your_ fault,” he spits, thrusting a wagging finger into her face. “You’ve spoiled him from the moment he was born. Now he thinks he’s invincible!”

“My fault?” She recoils as if slapped. “You’re the one who shipped him off to university right after he graduated, expenses paid, and told him to go _cultivate his greatness._ What did you expect? A _modest_ child? A _docile_ child?”

“He expected a homunculus, Vanozza,” Ascanio drawls. “But now it seems as though little Cesare has outgrown his father’s shadow.”

Rodrigo turns on Ascanio again, wife forgotten for a moment as he tears into his right hand man. Giulia shakes her head and is about to resume perusing Buzzfeed when there’s another knock at the door. She groans and opens it.

“I’m sorry, now is not the...time?”

The woman standing in the doorway is at least a head taller than Giulia with small, piercing eyes and thick brown hair pulled back into a bun. Her clothes are all black and, from the looks of them, very expensive despite their simple lines. She smells of old, heady perfume from the eighties, like Opium or Poison, mixed with the odor of Italian leather and car exhaust.

“Caterina Sforza for Rodrigo Borgia, please.” She rolls her eyes. “And I don’t care that now is _not the time_.”  

Giulia stands frozen in place, her eyes wide.

Caterina snorts. “What dead end street corner did Rodrigo drag you from?”

“Caterina.” Rodrigo materializes next to his assistant, flanked by Vanozza and Ascanio. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, don’t mind Miss Farnese here. She’s new.”

“Obviously.” Caterina sweeps into the room and drops her heavy leather coat into Giulia’s arms. The younger woman stumbles under the weight. “Your previous help always treated me so well. This one leaves much to be desired.”

“Of course.” Rodrigo pulls a heavy leather wingback chair from the corner and drags it in front of his desk. “Please sit down.”

She does, though not without sneering at the family portrait at his desk. “So sentimental. And how are you, Ascanio? Still wasting my money on this foolish venture?”

“Ha!” Shaking his head, Ascanio folds his arms and laughs. “Your money. What a fucking joke.”

Caterina tilts her head, a pitying look in her eye. “Of course it’s a joke to you. You never did understand how to make it.”

“So!” Rodrigo plops himself down into his desk chair. He shoots a wide eyed look at Giulia and Vanozza, willing their mouths shut. The two women glance at each other and, finally unified against this common enemy, slink back into a corner. “How may I help you today? You see, I know morale is low and we’ve been getting some bad press but, as they say, no publicity is bad publicity.” He chuckles nervously. “And I know the numbers aren’t looking so good, but I promise you...”

“Ah ah! Please, don’t bore me with your empty promises, Rodrigo.” She arches a thin eyebrow. “I’ve come here to ask you one simple question, that’s it. I don’t need to know about this little spat you’re having with your boy and, to be honest, I don’t really care about this useless Association. I just need to know...what the _FUCK_ did you do with my son?”

The room falls silent. Rodrigo’s mouth drops open. “I, uh, I’m sorry? Pardon me?”

“My SON Rodrigo, you goddamn idiot, what did you do to him?” Despite her elevated voice, Caterina remains perfectly poised in her chair, not a hair out of place.

“I, I, I...” He stares at her, gaping like a fish out of water. “I...I don’t know?”

“You don’t know.”

“He doesn’t know, Caterina.” Ascanio faces his sister. His body language is cool and calm, but his eyes blaze with repressed frustration. “There’s already been too much to worry about. I didn’t tell them.”

“Tell me- tell us what?” Rodrigo’s eyes flit between the siblings. “What’s happened?”

She leans ever so slightly forward and he recoils. “I’ll tell you what happened. Just over two weeks ago, my son went missing from our house in Maine. Three days later, his wrecked car was pulled out of the ocean, but his body wasn’t recovered. Now, I have spent countless hours and money on finding him, but nothing has surfaced so far, but you see, I have a little theory.”

She grins. “You had him killed.”

“What?” Rodrigo scrunches up his face, incredulity streaming from every wrinkle. “You think I killed him? Why on Earth would I do that?”

“Oh come on, Rodrigo. We both know what happened between my son and your daughter. The whorish one,” she clarifies.

Vanozza stares daggers into her. “We only have one daughter.”

Rolling her eyes, Caterina smiles. “Well, yes, but it had to be said.”

“Yes, about that...” Rodrigo is about to raise his voice, but she deflates him with one piercing look. “A misunderstanding, I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

Giulia glances over and notices Vanozza’s eyes are squeezed shut, her fingernails pressing into the meat of her palms. Impulsively, the younger woman reaches out and squeezes her hand in reassurance.

“So you see my point.” Caterina raises a hand to emphasize. “Who else would have the motive to harm my darling Giovanni? I mean, he’s only a child.”

Vanozza lets out a bark of a laugh. Her eyes open, a lone tear streaming down one cheek. “Hitler was once a child as well.”

“Quiet, whore.”

Giulia almost chokes on the smog of tension in the room. Vanozza thrums next to her as if ready to pounce on Caterina at any second. Rodrigo is frozen at his desk, gaping, while Ascanio has retreated to the corner, silently laughing to himself. Only Caterina remains in cool and in control, seated in her chair like a queen with her head thrown back in triumph.

“Fortunately for you, as I have said, nothing has been found. So I have settled on my own brand of justice.” She stands slowly, eyes fixed on Rodrigo. “I am withdrawing all of my funding from the Association. Effective immediately. Ascanio, don’t even start with me!” She waves a finger at her brother who closes his mouth mid protest. “You know that all along this has just been to placate you and your whining about how Father liked me best. Well...he did, so get over it.”

She pulls her coat from Giulia’s shaking arms and effortlessly pulls it on. “You can whine about it all you want now, because we both know that I’m the one who made this company succeed. It was _nothing_ before I inherited so you can quit your mooching because you’ve wasted your share of the money _by far._ And Rodrigo, don’t even think that your special brand of grovelling will help this time.” She smiles at Vanozza. “It was fun in the eighties but you’ve got to admit, he’s slacking on his technique.”

With a quick wave at her brother, Caterina walks out the door, leaving a waft of perfume and four stunned onlookers.

***  
The next day, Cesare drives up to his family’s estate, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. In the past week he’s been on over ten television shows talking about his viral talk at the convention, had four phone interviews, and was viewed over three million times on YouTube.

He’s not even through the front door before he’s assaulted by a sweet smelling blur of golden hair.

“Lucrezia!” he exclaims, instinctively drawing her into his arms.  

She’s not so friendly. “Where the _hell_ have you been?” she hisses in between sobs. “ _Why_ haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“Answering my...Lucrezia, I’ve been for the ride of a lifetime! Have you seen the news? Been on the internet? You know what I’ve been doing! You know where I’ve been!” He his face breaks into a grin.   
“I was on the Daily Show!”

“Well I don’t give a fuck! You haven’t been _here_!” She abruptly pushes him away while choking back a sob. “You haven’t been here as Mama and Papa have been s _creaming_ at each other. Gioffre’s locked himself in his room and refuses to go to school and Juan...I haven’t _seen_ Juan since we found out what you did, but I know that before he disappeared he looked like he was going to _murder_ you! How could you be so stupid?”

“Stupid? You told me I was a pussy! You wanted me to go out there, make something of myself, _be a man!_ ” He shrugs. “Well I’ve done it, and now you’re still upset with me.”

“It’s just...” She stares at him, frowning, a rogue trail of snot making its escape out of her nose. “Ugh, nevermind.”

“What? What is it now?”

“You should get inside before someone sees you.” Holding the door open, she fixes him with a stare that could curdle milk. “Don’t want the neighbours to start hiding in the bushes to get a picture of you.”

“It’s not like that.” He wheels his bags into the front entryway. “Where is everyone?”

The house is deathly quiet, the only sound coming from the humming refrigerator in the kitchen. Lucrezia rolls her eyes and slams the front door shut, the resulting gunshot noise echoing down the empty hallway.

“I told you. Juan is off doing God knows what. Gioffre is God knows where, probably off getting high behind a playground or something.”

Cesare wrinkles his nose. “He’s only twelve...”

“He’s _thirteen,_ Cesare. His birthday was this week and you missed it. Didn’t even call to say hi.”

“Oh, fuck.” He leaves his bags against the wall and falls onto a couch in the den, his fingers carding through his hair. “ _Fuck._ I’m so sorry.”

She sits down next to him. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to. Well, actually you should, but not for that.”

He gazes up at her, tears welling in his eyes. “For what then?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Smiling sadly, she leans over and kisses his forehead. “I just wanted you to feel guilty and apologetic for a bit,” she mumbles against his skin. “And I wanted to be angry at you.”

“So you forgive me for now?” he breathes.

She nuzzles his nose with her own. “You know me. All bark and no bite.”

“Now I know _that’s_ not true.” He catches her retreating chin between his fingers and pulls her face close. “You bite plenty.”

She shivers as his lips lightly press onto hers for a brief moment before pulling back. “Why...?” she breathes, her light eyes staring at his face.

“Because I want to make sure we’re okay first,” he replies. Judging by the bulge in his pants, he’s just as reluctant as her. “Plus, I promised you a talk.”

She giggles and moves to sit in the chair facing the couch. Crossing her ankles in front of her, she sticks out her tongue. “Oh, how adult of you!”

His face falls. “I am an adult, my love.” Sighing, he resumes the act of running his fingers through his hair. “And you’re not. Yet.”

“Cesare, I’m your sister. I hardly think that matters at this point.”

“It matters to me.” He shakes his head. “I know you’re amazingly intelligent and mature but I still sort of feel like a dirty old man whenever I look at you.”

She laughs and covers her face with her hands. “You’re not old!”

“I am so! I’m seven years older than you.” Despite himself, Cesare feels a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth. “And, as the adult in this relationship, I need to make some hard decisions.”

“Oh, I see. So this is a _relationship_ now?”

Cesare opens his mouth to respond to his sassy, grinning sister, but is interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming, followed by his parent’s incessant arguing.

“...not saying it has to be permanent, but it needs to happen!”

“Well, of course not, but I told you I think this is a step in the wrong direction down a slippery slope.”

Juan bursts into the den ahead of his parents and is instantly taken aback by the sight of his brother on the couch. “Uh...hello, _Cesare,”_ he yells in his parents’ direction. He scowls at his siblings.

“Lucrezia, why didn’t you call and say we had a _visitor_?”

She scoffs. “He’s not a visitor, Juan, he lives here.”

“Not for much longer.” Rodrigo stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the afternoon sun. Vanozza trails in after him, shaking her head.

“Not now, please my love.”

“Vanozza, we’ll talk about this later. CESARE!”

Rising to his feet, Cesare approaches his father with a determined scowl on his face. “Yes?”

Rodrigo seethes. “Your mother and I feel that it’s time for you to move out of this house.”

“Oh really.”

“Yes. Due to your...stunt last weekend, which I’m afraid we’ll have to talk about later.” Rodrigo is practically pulsating with pent-up aggression, but he nods calmly with every word.

Cesare laughs. “Is this supposed to be some sort of punishment?”

“Do you think this is a joke, boy?” his father spits, resolve melting.

Vanozza attempts to grasp his shoulder. “Rodrigo, please! This isn’t our way. This isn’t what we do.”

He roughly smacks her hand away, the resounding slap echoing down the hall. Shocked, she clasps the hand to her chest, eyes wide, but says nothing.

Cesare turns on his father. “How DARE you!” Flexing his fingers, he moves to attack Rodrigo but is held back by Juan and a shaking Lucrezia, who squeezes his arm.

“Don’t, Cesare, my love, please,” she whimpers. “This has to stop.”

“Yes brother, let’s not do anything else you’ll regret in the morning,” Juan says coolly and pushes Cesare into the wall. “You always were bad at controlling your impulses.”

“Oh yeah, and you’re the voice of reason,” Cesare spits sarcastically. Smoothing his hair out of his face, he turns to his father. “Fine. I’m leaving now. I’ll send someone over later for my stuff.”

“I’ll pack it up for you, Cesare.” Lip quivering, Lucrezia glares at her Rodrigo. “How could you, Papa?”

“How could...?” Not for the first time in the last few days, Rodrigo is left speechless with his mouth hanging open. “How could _I_? He was the one who sacrificed this family and everything we’ve worked for at the altar of his own ego!”  

“Yes, among other things.” Juan rolls his eyes and pushes his brother towards the door. “Out you go now, Cesare, before you decide to ruin anything else.”

“Sure. But just so that you’re not left with the satisfaction of thinking you’re punishing me in some way, let me be clear.” Still chuckling to himself, Cesare shrugs at Rodrigo. “Before I was rudely interrupted, I was about to tell Lucrezia the good news. I’ve bought my own place.”

Vanozza looks proud and horrified, a twisted expression worming its way across her face. “You...you bought your own...?”

“Yes, mother. I wasn’t doing all of this touring and interviewing just for the fun of it. I got paid for every single appearance and every single YouTube view and I’ve taken that money and bought a condo. I mean, I don’t have possession yet, but it’s only going to be a few days and I’ve got a place to stay.”

“But only the uploader gets paid for views...” The rusty gears in Juan’s head start spinning slowly. “Which means...”

Cesare laughs again, a harsh sound that sends chills down his mother’s spine. “Exactly. Have fun guys. Lucrezia...I’ll text you.”

With a wave of his middle finger, he grabs his bags and heads out the door, leaving his befuddled family gaping behind him.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading/reviewing/kudoing! I can't believe I just passed 4000 hits :D!!!!!!!!! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

“So, where does that leave us?”

Giulia scrunches her eyes shut. Surrounded by boxes upon boxes of budget reports, payrolls, and random documents that at one point were considered important, she’s spent the last four hours with the other two members of the Association’s ‘Golden Trio’ wading through this colossal mess constructing some semblance of a pared down financial plan. Resolute, she chews the end of her pencil and glances up at Rodrigo from her notepad. “Accounting for all expenses and a twenty-five percent shrinkage in staff... we would still be almost fifteen million short,” she whispers. “And that’s with a generous projection with regards to giving. The deficit could be even worse.”

“ _Will_ be even worse,” he grumbles, head in his hands, elbows perched precariously on his desk. “What with Families First and in light of Cesare’s stunt...at this rate we’ll have to lose the headquarters and set up shop in Ascanio’s basement.”

The three of them laugh nervously, more out of obligation than acknowledgement of any true humor in the situation.

Still tittering awkwardly, Giulia looks over at Rodrigo. His face is haggard and drawn, every worry written into the deep wrinkles of his face. It troubles her, how fragile and worn out he looks.

“Ascanio, would you pardon us for a moment?” She flashes a grim smile at the other man.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I’ll go make a fresh pot of coffee.” With a glance backward, he walks out the door, narrowly avoiding the frame as he scurries away.

Giulia shakes her head. “I highly doubt coffee will help at this point.”

Rodrigo grimaces, making the lines around his eyes appear even more craggy. “Maybe something stronger? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Hmmm. Oh no, of course not!” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why on Earth would I do that?”

Shaking his head at her, Rodrigo sighs. “My dear Miss Farnese. Facetiousness is not becoming for a women of your position.”

He lets her stew in her confusion before he clarifies, “...and of course I have a stash. Everyone has their vices, my dear. Let’s have a little nip before Ascanio gets back, eh? A bit of bourbon?”

“Uh, it’s not normally my cup of tea but, sure, why not?”

Nervously she takes the foldable shot glass from Rodrigo’s outstretched hand and, once he fills one for himself, downs it in one shaky gulp. It burns, not unpleasantly, and she gives a little cough.

“Augh.” He closes his eyes to savor the taste before snatching away the glasses and bottle. “Now, why did you request this alone time?”

She licks her lips, the remnants of the bourbon still tingling and spicy. “I...I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

It sounds even lamer out loud than it did in her head, but apparently Rodrigo is impervious to her lack of verbal finesse. His face breaks at her words, tears leaking slowly out of the corners of his eyes. “I’m not sure,” he whispers. “I’m honestly not sure.”

She’s at his side in an instant and clutches his shaking hand to her chest. Something about seeing him so broken and vulnerable makes her heart clench and her eyes water in empathy. “Just remember I’m here for you,” she breathes. “Ascanio and I. We’ll always be here for you.”

“But why?” He gazes at her with swollen, questioning eyes. “Why? I’ve had so many other assistants, Giulia Farnese, and they all leave eventually. None have endured the turmoil you have, so why? Why stay?”

“I...” She looks down at her trembling hands. “Because you were there for me when I needed you, once. I’m just repaying the favour.”

He stares at her, mouth open for a moment, his eyebrows knit in confusion.  “What do you-?”

The phone on his desk rings, shrill and abrupt, and Giulia retreats back into her memories as Rodrigo answers it.

***

_Coldness. Emptiness. Feeling worthless, used up, tainted, unloved, bruised, battered._

_The sterile, plastic feeling of the pill bottle in her hand. The cold glass of water sweating droplets onto her coffee table._

_Resolution._

_Hopelessness._

_One last look around her living room. Her paintings. Piano. Beautiful picture window. Scads of books all resting neatly on their mahogany shelves._

_Eyes catch on a book title, one that she’s never noticed before._

_“God Loves You for You.”_

_By Reverend Doctor Rodrigo Borgia._

_The pills fall from her hand._

_***_

“...yes, yes, of course. Yes, I know.”

Giulia shakes her head, grounded by Rodrigo’s excited voice. He’s standing, pacing, with a giant grin plastered all over his face. It’s an unusual sight, to say the least, especially in light of recent events.

“Well, of course I considered it! Yes, I know, my dear, but I still consider it a sign and a blessing. Yes, I know, of course I won’t do anything rash...but you still have to admit this is a sign...Yes, of course. I love you too.”

He hangs up the phone and sits back in his chair, bright smile still painted across his face. “Ascanio, get in here!” he bellows. “Forget the coffee for a moment!”

Quickly, he clasps her hand in his own. “Whatever your reason may be for staying, thank you,” he says, the gravitas obscured by his shit eating grin. “We’re lucky to have you.”

“You’re welcome, but...”

Again she is interrupted, this time by Ascanio who enters the office clumsily bearing three porcelain mugs of steaming coffee. “Just in time,” he puffs, setting the drinks down on Rodrigo’s desk. “Now, what’s so exciting?”

Rodrigo leans over conspiratorially and lowers his voice. “Well, I just received word of a...let’s say, _family_ development that I can swing to get the Association a lot of positive press.”

Giulia’s stomach twists. “If you’re suggesting using your children to speak on behalf of the Association again...well, I’m only a secretary, but I’m pretty sure that didn’t work out too well last time.”

He shakes his head, face still contorted into a huge smile. “No, of course not. I’m not going to rely on my children as spokespeople again.”

Ascanio leans his elbows onto the front of the desk, confusion written on his face. “So...?”

Rodrigo laughs. “I’ll get to that. I’m just going to say...I see a new era in store for this Association.”His grin, if possible, goes even wider. “You could even call it a _rebirth.”_

***  
 _BZZZZZZZT!_

Cesare jumps in his chair, nearly spilling his coffee all over his shirt at the sound of his buzzer ringing.

_Jesus._

Still not quite used to the whole ‘living on his own’ thing, he tentatively walks over to the shiny gold speaker next to his door and pushes the button.

“Hello?”

“ _Cesare, it’s me, let me up!”_

 There’s a pause.

“ _I’m here to talk.”_

Taken aback, he rings Lucrezia through without another word. His heart jumps as he counts down the seconds to her arrival at his door, imagining her walking through the lobby, boarding the elevator, rising up level by level until...

_KNOCK KNOCK!_

He pulls open the door with a hopefully not too goofy smile on his face. “Lucrezia!”

Not wasting any time, she pushes through the door, tosses her purse into a corner, and slouches down into the chair he just vacated. “So,” she postures. “Let’s talk.”

She appears absolutely immaculate and yet also expertly deconstructed. Her face looks mature and sensual with glossy pouted lips and cheekbones carved out with bronzer. Her hair is a marriage of shiny golden curls and sexy tousled waves that fall around her face like ribbons. Wearing a chunky grey sweater over black skinny jeans and suede wedges, she reminds him of the first year seminary students he used to spend time with when he started school. But of course, that’s her intention.

Shaking his head, he sits down across from her on a leather ottoman. “Sure. But to be honest, I can’t take you seriously with all of that shit on your face.”

“This s _hit_ is Guerlain, you dick.” She rolls her eyes as she gestures to her lips with mock offence. “I spent like, fifty bucks at Sephora for this. But I can’t expect a poor twenty-something college drop out to know that.”

“Oh, you make me sound like such a catch.” His face goes serious. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh jeez, are you really going to make me say it?” She bites her lip. “Okay, here it goes. I was thinking...and wanting to ask you...can’t you, like, divorce your parents? Isn’t that a thing?”

He laughs nervously, tension still thick in the air. “Emancipation, you mean? Yeah, it’s a thing, but it’s not as easy as it looks. You have to prove that you’re capable of supporting yourself as well as prove that your living situation with your family is unbearable and...well, Father is pretty famous. I don’t think it would work out, I mean you don’t even have a job!”

“I have money,” she huffs. “I just...I just have to get away.”

Snorting, he shakes his head. “You have a bit of money, but it’s not enough. Believe me, I tried to do it one time, when I was around your age.”

“What?” She stares at him. “You wanted to leave? Why? When was it?”

“It was the year before I graduated. I knew Father wanted to send me to school and I just...just didn’t feel ready. So funny though, I thought I was ready to move out on my own, but I wasn’t ready to go to school. I was so close to being an adult as well.” He shakes his head and smiles to himself. “I understand. Sometimes you feel like you can’t wait, but just hang on and do it right. It’s a lot easier.”  

Biting her lip, she leans towards Cesare and forces her face into the cutest, most pleading expression. “But Cesare...”

His heart drops into his stomach because he _knows_ what she wants and he _knows_ what he said, but everything is just so much more complicated now. He just shakes his head. “Nope, don’t even say it. I know what you’re about to say, and I just...nope.”

“But I remember years ago when you went off to school, you promised me that if something happened you would be there for me! You said that you would become my guardian and that I could come live with you! You said!”

“Yes, I said, but things have changed.” He stands up and leans against the side of the couch. “I...c _an’t_ be your guardian anymore.”

“But why not?”

“You know why not!” He laughs. “There are some lines even _I’m_ not willing to cross. I’m not some sort of dirty old man, sis. You can’t be my ward, or whatever. This isn’t the 1800s.”

“But...” she huffs. “You said.”

His heart breaks because _this_ is what he’s always dreamed of, having a home for them to run away to, having his sister ready and willing to leave the family and risk it all to be with him, but now that he has it, it feels like... not enough.

“I want to do this right,” he says with finality. His hands grip the slippery sides of the ottoman. “I don’t want us to just sneak around under the radar. I want to give you the life you deserve, and I’m so close. By the time you graduate, I’ll be ready to give you anything...give you a home anywhere you want. You’ve always said you wanted to go to Italy, right?”

She stares at him. “Uh, yes.”

He raises his hands in the air. “How would you like to live there? I’ve gotten so many book and endorsement deals in the last week, you have no idea! If I even take a quarter of them I’ll have enough money to buy you a beautiful villa with everything you have ever wanted. Doesn’t that sound better than lazing around here in my shitty condo?”

“I don’t know, Cesare, I just want to get out.” Like a cut flower, she wilts in her chair, the sexiness and confidence drained from her face. “Two years may not seem long to you, but it’ll feel like forever for me.”

Dropping to his knees in front her, he takes her hand and kisses it, causing her to smile. “I’m sorry, my love. But honestly, why are you so insistent? You’re not the one that they hate!”

She pouts. “Not yet.”

Cesare smiles and kisses her hand again, slowly letting his lips ghost over her knuckles. “Stop being dumb. You’re the golden child. Father worships you and Mother adores you. Even ...

“Would you stop, please?” Lucrezia yanks her hands away and jumps out of the chair. She paces for a moment in the entryway, nearly tripping over a pile of her brother’s dress shoes in her haste. He watches her as she walks in circles and nervously chews on her thumbnail. Finally she stops and faces him, unshed tears brimming in her eyes. “I have to move out because...because...because I’m _pregnant_!”

_Shit._

Her exclamation silences Cesare, who immediately slumps onto the ground in shock. His heart pounds steadily, forcing blood into his already heavily flushed face.

_Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit._

“Yeah,” she continues, a bit of her previous venom lost when she sees his reaction. “I’m pregnant, and I want to keep the baby, and I just know that Papa will make me give it away and even if he doesn’t he’ll want me to raise it his way and I just _can’t_.” Her voice breaks. “I can’t do that. Please. You have to help me.”

Head swimming, Cesare kneads his skull with his hands, as if the motion would somehow squish the revelation from his brain. His ears are ringing, the sound steadily rising in frequency and magnitude.   “Shit. _Shit_. Was it...?”

Lifting his head, he lets the question hang there, unspoken, while staring at her with moist eyes.

Groaning, she shakes her head. “Uhhh, there’s no way I could know yet.”

“Wh-what?”

“Who’s the dumb one now? It’s only been, like, a month. How would I be able to know? But...” A single tear falls down her face, leaving a black trail of mascara in its wake. “...I think so.”

They stare at each other, the full magnitude of her words still sinking in. He stares up at her from his prostrate position in front of the ottoman, struck dumb by the fact that their... _obsession,_ their _union_ with each other has created something so tangible and real, with tangible, real life consequences.

She kneels down next to him and just waits, brushing his hair out of his eyes with a light flick of her finger. The position is awkward, with the two of them wedged between the footstool and the chair, but it also feels safe, almost womb like in its constraint.

Rodrigo used to joke that the two of them were twins born seven years apart, and it has never felt truer than it does in this particular moment. Physical touch has always calmed any storm between the siblings, and a lack of such affection always exacerbated any tension in their relationship. Craving comfort and unity, Lucrezia slides into Cesare’s arms, wedging both of them into a spooning position on the floor. Though he’s still partially in shock, he relaxes as he breathes in the scent of her hair. His heartbeat starts to sync with hers, causing his breathing to even out until he finally feels calm.

“Cesare?”

“Hmmm?” he hums into her hair.

She laces her fingers through his and rests them lightly on her belly. “Do you think God made a mistake when he made us siblings?”

He stiffens, not expecting a question so heavy. “I suppose if there is a God and he made mistakes that would surely count as one. But no”

Closing his eyes, he buries his faces deeper into her hair. He used to do the same thing when he was a boy, when he was sure no one else was looking. Even then, he realised that this... _thing_ between him and Lucrezia was theirs alone, their little secret hidden from the world. And now...

_And now it’s not just the two of us anymore._

“I just...” he starts, his words muffled by her curls. “I just didn’t even think it was real...when it happened. It didn’t feel real.”

“Well, it was.” She uses their entwined hands to rub at her belly. “It really was real.”

“And I guess this is what happens when you don’t...”

It still feels weird, _impossibly_ weird, to use words like ‘protection,’ ‘condom,’ or even ‘sex’ with reference to his sister, but even without clarification she understands exactly what he’s saying. And, of course, she understands exactly where his train of thought is going.

“Before you ask, I just have to say...no.” She crawls out from his arms and sits cross legged in front of his still prone form, her face deadly serious. “I can’t...” She pauses. “...get rid of it.”

“Why not?” he asks, keeping his voice light and calm. Inside his guts are still churning and thudding around, but he’s really not in the mood for any more blow ups between them. “It can be discreet.”

She smiles a painful smile, her hand unconsciously drifting to her middle. “I just can’t. I’d go to hell for sure.”

Out of all the reasons to not have an abortion, Cesare was sure not expecting _that._  He scrambles up to the chair and barely suppresses a chuckle. “You’d go to hell. Where did you think we’d end up after all of this happened?”

Her face falls. “I don’t want to talk about that. You may not believe in God any more, Cesare, but I’m still pretty sure he exists. Also, what we did that night...it felt _good._ And _right._ But killing my...our baby, it feels wrong. Doesn’t it say in the Bible something about how some people can do certain things and it’s sin, but other people can do the same things and it’s not? Or something like that?”

“Sort of.” He smiles at her pleading face. “You’re talking about the passage in Romans thirteen?” 

_Do not cause your brother to stumble._

“Yeah, I guess so.” Brushing the smeared mascara from under her eyes, she assumes a serious expression and asserts, “So that’s that. I told you, I want to keep the baby, which is why I have to move out.”

“Okay, then.” Cesare joins her on the floor, crawling over until they’re almost nose to nose. “But we still haven’t had our real talk yet.”

“That’s right,” she responds. She’s still nervous and jittery, but her gaze is steady. “You haven’t given me your answer yet.”

He reaches over and squeezes her hand in his. “Okay. Well...my answer is...”

_So this is it then._

“I love you.”

She’s about to respond, but he silences her with a soft kiss. “I love you,” he repeats, breathless against her lips despite the relative chastity of his action. “I love you and everything about you. I love _that_ I know everything about you. Honestly, how could I ever say no to loving you and being with you? You’re everything to me, and you have always been everything to me and now, with this baby, you’re giving me the ultimate gift. You inspire me every day to be the man I was born to be, and I hope that one day I can inspire our child in the same way. I mean, I’m going to be a...” He chokes on the word. “...a _father_ thanks to you.”

He kisses her again, this time lingering on her top lip with a little nip that makes her jump. “And I’m sorry if you felt like I was abandoning you. That wasn’t my intention, honestly. I just want our lives to be perfect, I want to give you everything you deserve and now with this baby...I guess I just need to step up my game a bit.”

They settle into a companionable silence, nested on the ground with Lucrezia wrapped in Cesare’s arms. With only the steady hum of the refrigerator in the background, the siblings finally relax, unwatched and secure and able to just be themselves, if only for a few moments.

The peace and calm is eventually broken by Cesare’s phone ringing in his pocket. He pulls it out and is about to reject the call when he sees that it’s Vanozza.

“Hello Mother.”

_“Cesare, is Lucrezia there?”_

“Yeah, she is.”

She sounds shaken, and he’s about to pass his sister the phone when his mother shouts, “ _No, no, I can’t talk to her now, I just can’t”_

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

Lucrezia stirs in his lap, her face twisted in confusion. He waves his hand to calm her and responds, “Mama, are you okay? Did something happen?”

He hears a few muffled sobs before she responds. “ _I-I made a mistake Cesare. I, uh, Lucrezia isn’t answering her phone and I needed to just tell her...God, I made a mistake, I just got over excited and I fucked up.”_

He physically recoils, the curse sounding so foreign coming from his mother’s mouth. “Mama, are you sure you don’t need to talk to her?”

_“I can’t, Cesare. I just can’t right now. Just...turn on Channel 9 and you’ll see. Please, just tell her...I’m so sorry I told him.”_

Vanozza abruptly hangs up, but Cesare’s already fumbling for his remote, tossing the phone back onto the chair. Lucrezia sits up and shakes her head groggily.

“What did Mama what?”

Despite his shaking fingers, he finally finds the local news station and is greeted by the image of his father dressed to the nines, talking to the two anchors.

“ _...well, it was a great shock to the family, yes, but like everything in life, we embrace it as a gift from God.”_

The female anchor brushes tears from her eyes and looks over at the male anchor who is not so subtly dabbing at his nose with a Kleenex. Composing himself, he faces the camera and explains, “ _That was local celebrity and Association head Reverend Doctor Rodrigo Borgia, telling the story of his daughter’s rape, subsequent pregnancy and how the family is dealing with it right now. Wow, amazing. Thank you so much for joining us Reverend Borgia. It’s such an honor to see how your faith has been strengthened by this experience. Please, keep in touch.”_  

The rest of the dialogue is drowned out by the roar of blood rushing to Cesare’s head. All he can see is his father’s stupid face, looking so pious and godly while he destroys his daughter’s life. Already Cesare’s planning on how he’ll destroy him, rip him to pieces with words, books, interviews, nails, staples, hammers...

_Lucrezia._

He squeezes his sister in his arms, but she’s already gone limp with shock.

“No.”

Her voice is broken beyond recognition, and stitched together into an inhuman sound. She starts shaking and then throws back her head and wails.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO.....”

The sound shatters his heart into a million and one pieces. He chokes up a huge sob, the tears flowing freely as he watches her, so strong in the face of her rape, of her pregnancy, of everything that the so-called God had thrown in her face, _break_ in the presence of her father’s betrayal.

“Lucrezia...my love...”

There are no words. He just watches her dissolve, her willpower draining out of her body with her tears as she clenches her hands until her knuckles turn white. Beauty, seduction, and fifty dollar Guerlain lipstick are all forgotten as she melts into a puddle at his feet, wails finally shrinking into tiny sobs that wrack her frame.

Eventually she recovers enough to ask “What did she tell you?”

Cesare shakes his head, his own eyes swollen. “I can’t”

Lucrezia glares at him, her black ringed eyes emphasizing the venom in her stare. “I said, _what_ did she tell you?”

 _Why are you protecting them?_  that dark, hissing part of his mind whispers into his ear. _Why are you protecting them when they’ve only treated you like pawns?_

He meets her stare and sighs. “She-she told me that she fucked up, that she told him and she knew that it was a mistake. She wanted you to know that she was sorry.”

“She probably wants to know that she ‘has my forgiveness.’” Lucrezia rolls her eyes.

Drawing her close to him, Cesare leans over a gives her a firm kiss, one filled with promises of things, _of great things_ to come. It’s still chaste, but there’s a hunger lurking underneath that longs to be satisfied. “Well, my love,” he traces against her mouth, “Will you forgive her?”

They break apart, and Lucrezia laughs. It’s a harsh chuckle that sounds alien coming from her because...because...

_That’s my laugh._

“Oh Cesare,” she sighs, “We’re Borgias. We never forgive.”

 

   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a bit late! It's been a crazy week here.  
> And with that note...AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! This story is getting crazy. Originally I was hoping to wrap it up in 20-24 chapters, with each chapter being 2-3 thousand words long. HA! Oh well. Thank you all for coming along on this crazy ride with me, and I'll hopefully see you again next Wednesday for a new chapter :D


	22. Chapter 22

_“I believe that it is necessary, once the men are found, to arm them; and in wanting to do this, I believe it is necessary to examine what arms the ancients used, and from them select the best...”_

_BANG!_

Entirely engrossed in his book, Rodrigo jumps when he hears the gunshot-like slam of the front door. A moment later, Juan appears at the doorway to the den, squinting against the bright morning sun. His face is dull and puffy and his eyes are bloodshot.

“Father? A word?”

Rodrigo sighs and sets his book down on the side table, dog-earing his spot for later. Entirely oblivious to his father’s frustration, Juan saunters down the hall, leaving Rodrigo clueless and disappointed as usual.

 _Almost a normal, calm Monday morning. Almost._  

He follows Juan into the office, his son closing the door behind them before facing him with an intense stare.

“Father. I have something very serious and private to discuss with you.”

Rodrigo reels back from the strong waft of whisky on Juan’s breath. Not that he wasn’t expecting it, but the sheer potency of his son’s inebriation is staggering.  “Day drinking, son? Is that really necessary?”

“Please sit, Father.” Squatting down, Juan gestures for his father to sit on the office chair in front of the desk. “And, believe me, once you hear what I’ve got to say, you’ll start day drinking as well.”

Rodrigo sighs again and slumps into the chair, nose wrinkling from the alcohol fumes oozing out of his son’s pores. “Alright then. Tell me your important news.”

Juan grins like the cat that swallowed the canary, revealing a mouth of furry, plaque covered teeth. “Now, what I’m about to say may seem crazy, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and it’s all recently clicked for me.” He holds up his hands in caution. “Hear me out. I give you my theory: _Cesare and Lucrezia love each other.”_

Apathy dripping from his face, Rodrigo stares at his inebriated son. “Really,” he drawls. “I had never noticed.”

Juan flinches like he’s been slapped, but recovers quickly. “No, _Father,_ I meant that Cesare loves Lucrezia in _that_ way... like a man loves a woman.”

The two men stare at each other for a tense moment before Rodrigo’s face begins to twist in disgust. Juan smiles and nods encouragingly, but is quickly shot down by his father.

“Are you _insane?”_ Rodrigo hisses. He jumps out of the chair, nearly knocking his son over in his haste. “Has the alcohol finally pickled your brain?”

“But...”

“No buts! How _dare_ you say such disgusting things about your siblings?”

Juan scrambles up from his crouch on the floor. “But I’m not just making this up, Father, I know that I’m right! I have proof!”

Rodrigo looks gobsmacked for just a second before he recovers and scowls at Juan. “Proof? What proof?”

Rubbing his face, Juan shakes his head. “Well, not photos or video or anything, but I just _know._ There were times when they were together and I just sensed that something funny was going on. A few weeks ago, I saw Cesare sneaking around the house at night, looking suspicious. Why would he be acting suspicious when he lives here, unless... ” He waves his finger in Rodrigo’s face. “Also, notice how he’s been acting since she’s gotten pregnant! It’s not natural! And you know how protective he is of her! You can’t tell me that that’s _normal!”_

The saturation of whisky fumes in the room has almost reached an unbearable level. Rodrigo coughs into his fist, eyes watering. “So, you’re telling me,” he chokes out. “...you’re telling me that you believe your brother has been having sex with your _sister_?”

Juan nods enthusiastically.

Rodrigo rolls his eyes. “ Have you absolutely _lost_  your God-given _mind_? Why on Earth would you think that?”

Juan opens his mouth to respond, but is silenced by his Father’s finger to his lips.

“Alright. I’m not going to dwell on your little hypothesis at the moment because, frankly, the idea is ludicrous and you are drunker than an Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day. However, I have my own little theory that I think deserves some attention. Can you give me that?”

Nodding, Juan gently pries the fingers from his mouth. “Of course.”

Rodrigo smiles and sits back in the office chair. Reclining slowly from his throne, he makes an open gesture with his hands. “Okay, so let’s say that you’ve been having a bit of an off month. You’ve had some professional setbacks, your numbers aren’t looking good, and that Youtube clip is still related to your ad campaign for senator...”

Juan groans. “This isn’t about that Youtube video, Father.”

“Hush. I know it’s not, but this can’t be helping your well being.” Patting Juan on the knee, Rodrigo gives him a small smile. “Couple this with your brother’s ill-gained, albeit meteoric, rise to fame and his lifelong favouritism of your sister...their closeness during his fifteen minutes while he seems to shun you...I can understand why you would fabricate a reason for their apparent exclusion of you.”

“But Father, that’s not it at all! I feel as though this has been going on for much longer than that!”

“So you’re saying that your brother and sister have been having sex for years without anyone noticing? Not myself or your mother or your nannies or any other person that we’ve had in our house?” Rodrigo chuckles and leans back in his chair. “I see.”

Juan’s face turns beet red. He turns away from his father and rests his hands against the wall to steady himself. “I’m not crazy,” he breathes. “I can just...feel something there. Something unnatural.”

Rodrigo smiles again, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. Standing up from his chair, he rubs Juan’s back for a few seconds. “Maybe that ‘something’ is just normal sibling affection? They’ve always been like this, Juan, you know that. There’s no use fussing over it. Now...I am sorry that all of you haven’t been equally close with each other, but there’s not much we can do about it at this point.”

“I’m not asking for your intercession on my behalf, _Father,”_ Juan spits. “I just want to make sure my wily brother isn’t molesting my teenaged sister, that’s all.”

The hand on his back stills. “That’s enough, Juan.” Rodrigo’s voice is calm, but the tension underlying it is palpable. “Stop it with these poisonous ideas. Now, the Lord knows I’ve had it up to my eyebrows with your brother these past few weeks, but he’s still family, and family needs to stick together. After all, I’m not getting any younger, and I’m relying on both of you to uphold our family name.”

Juan laughs. “You put your family’s future in the hands of a failed politician and a writer. A _writer!_ ”

Rodrigo’s face drops. Sure, he lost a bit of faith in his son’s career after Juan’s many disastrous media appearances, but hearing the boy actually admit his failure out loud it to himself is disheartening to say the least. “So, you admit it?” he asks softly. “You’re ready to hang up your hat and try something new?”

“Ha!” Juan body shudders with a burst of energy. Propelling himself from the wall, he straightens up, brushes his father’s hands off, and sweeps out of the office.  “You would love that, wouldn’t you?” he crows back to Rodrigo. “Maybe I should just quit it all and become a writer!”

His tittering laugh echoes down the hall until he leaves the house, announcing his exit with another slam of the door.

Rodrigo groans and falls back into his office chair.

_Well, that was interesting._

Frankly, he’s not surprised by Juan’s delusions. After all, he was always an imaginative boy, making up stories and scenarios to pass the time in the long car trips and services the family endured. While Cesare and Lucrezia spent most of their time with each other, Juan amused himself by coming up with various elaborate quests re-enacted with Legos where he was always the hero. In a way, then, this whole farce makes sense. Juan sees Cesare gaining power and influence and desires to protect his sister from this burgeoning villain, while gaining accolades from his family members and the public.

Shaking his head, Rodrigo grabs his briefcase and heads out to the garage. The house, while quiet, now feels like it’s full of tension, as if another family member is just waiting to pounce out of a corner and ruin his good mood. At this point, the office is really the only place Rodrigo feels _safe,_ where his opinions are _valid,_ and where no one is sniffing the crazy powder like his eldest son.

During the short drive to Association headquarters, Rodrigo lets his mind go blissfully blank. He thinks of warmth, sunshine, fresh herbed bread and beautiful women. For a brief moment he even lets himself think of the family’s old beachfront house in California, the one where the kids grew up. It’s only when he pulls into his private parking space that his vision begins to blur, the stress finally getting to him.

He stumbles as he clambers out of his car, legs shaky, only to be caught by a set of steady arms.

“Easy does it, sir. We can’t have another tragedy so soon now, can we?”

Rodrigo gazes up a Giulia’s smiling face, and his mind explodes. Throwing caution to the wind, he reaches up and pushes her mouth onto his own, groaning as the smell of cinnamon and oranges floods his nostrils.

 _No, don’t, no, not this one too! Please don’t,_ his mind screams, but he’s lost in the softness of her hair, the pliant plushness of her lips, and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love again.

They break away after only a moment, and instantly he’s scrambling, the apologies falling from his lips. “So sorry, so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. That was most unprofessional. Lord, I am so sorry, I apologise.”

She cuts him off with a subtle shake of her head. “Don’t, please. That was beautiful.”

He stammers mid-apology. “...it was?”

Nodding, she brushes his hair back out of his face, like a mother would do to her child. “Yes, it was, and I understand what brought it on. You’re having to be so strong in all of this, with your son abandoning you and your daughter in her broken state, and you just needed to be selfish, needed to _feel_ for a moment. I understand.”

Rodrigo stares at her wide eyed. “Uh, yes, of course, that was it.” He nods his head.

Giulia laughs. “Well, and you also think I’m beautiful. You have for a while.”

Taking her smile as encouragement, he wraps her into his arms and kisses her properly, letting all of his frustrations and anger melt off as he does. She’s right, of course, about the responsibility and pressure getting to him, and about his admiration of her beauty. But there’s one facet, one incontrovertible truth about his infidelity that he keeps buried inside him, that she’ll never discover...that, hopefully, _no one_ will.

_I can’t look at Vanozza’s face anymore. All I see in her eyes is our failure of a family._

Inhaling lungfuls of spiced oranges, Rodrigo buries his face in Giulia’s shoulder and simply forgets.

***

“...and one venti, full fat, mocha chip frappachino with extra whip.”

Micheletto’s head jerks over to gape in surprise at Cesare, who is ordering their beverages at their local Starbucks. They had both agreed to meet up and formalize the plan of action, accompanied by their traditional refreshments, of course. The frappachino, however, is _new,_ as is the impatient demeanour and the currently furrowed brow his boss is sporting.

Schooling his features into their customary nonchalant positions, Micheletto casually inquires, “So, no Americano today? Why the shake up?”

His companion just shrugs, his foot tapping fitfully has he waits for their order. Micheletto raises his eyebrows, unwilling to push an issue that may just end up being trivial.

The barista deposits their drinks with only a slight gape at Cesare, and the two men sit down in their usual corner. Pulling out his phone, Micheletto scrolls through the various Borgia related hashtags he follows on Instagram and Tumblr. Lucrezia’s harried face pops up regularly, often captioned with various levels of condemning dialogue about her pregnancy.

“So your sister is, uh, in the family way, eh?” He mimes a round belly.

Cesare grunts a reply, his nose buried in whipped cream.

Micheletto whistles. “That bastard.”

Cesare wipes the cream from his face with a spare napkin before replying, “Yeah. What a dick. I hope Satan is taking a shit on his soul right now.”

 Chuckling to himself, Micheletto watches the other man for a few moments, sipping his latte leisurely all the while. For all of his quirks, Cesare has proven himself as a capable and charismatic employer, all while remaining relatively calm and collected. Even during the rather...unpleasant experience with Gio Sforza, he remained ‘with it’ with only minor tremors that betrayed his anxiety. But _this_ Cesare, jittery and bug eyed whilst chugging down a sugary, icy beverage, is practically a stranger to him.

“So, what are you planning?” he asks, licking the matcha from his lips. “Who is the next target?”

“Oh, the target hasn’t changed, Micheletto.” Cesare stares off in the distance, his foot still tapping erratically on the ground. “It’s just intensified. We’re still going after Father and that whole goddamned Association.”

“Hmmm. And how are you planning on upping the intensity? I’m assuming your conference presentation was only the beginning, and your Daily Show appearance only an appetizer on your menu of vigilante justice?”

Cesare looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m serious,” he deadpans, sucking up the chocolate froth through his straw. “I have so much more to say, and he’s given me so many more reasons to tear him down.”

“Yes, I assumed outing your sister’s pregnancy wasn’t a family decision.” The image of Lucrezia’s anxious face, captured by so many amateur photographers, flashes through his mind. His tone softens. “How is she taking it?”

Scrunching his nose, Cesare shakes his head and deposits his now empty cup on the side table. “As well as can be expected, I guess, and then some. She’s an exceptional woman. About that...” He faces Micheletto, suddenly looking more focused and lucid than he has all day. “I need you to spend most of your time watching her. I know she’s being followed by all sorts of people, be it paparazzi or just weirdoes on the street, and it’s making me jumpy not being with her all the time.” He wipes at his eyes. “I mean, look at me! I’m a mess.”

Micheletto looks down at his drink, silent as stone.

Cesare chuckles darkly. “I know you would never admit to it, but I had you worried for a bit. Don’t worry, I’m still all here. For now, at least.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Pulling up his schedule on his phone, Micheletto swipes to the week. “So, do you have any hard times or dates yet?”

“Just give me a sec, I need to brief you on the situation.” Cesare slouches over, elbows resting on his knees. “Now for the moment Lucrezia is still living at our parents’ house, but I’m pulling some strings to see if I can get her out of there.”

Micheletto raises his eyebrows. “So she’ll be staying with you? Are you sure you want to celebrate your newfound freedom by sharing your condo with a pregnant teenager?”

“You don’t ask the questions here, remember?” Cesare’s face softens. “And yes, I do want to share my condo with a pregnant teenager if it means my sister is safe and well taken care of. There’s always people watching at the house, and I’m certain my father would force Lucrezia to do something unpleasant with the child once it’s born, so I’m pretty sure this is the best plan of action.” He shrugs. “I mean, she’s practically moved out already.”

His eyes flick up to meet Micheletto’s gaze, and the redhead gets the sneaking feeling that he’s being probed for any signs of suspicion. “Oh, is that where she is right now? She’s been conspicuously absent from the internet today.”

“Yeah, I told her to keep a low profile and let things sort of blow over.”

“Well, it’s not working.” Pulling up Twitter, he points at the trending topics.

“#LucreziaBorgia,” Cesare murmurs. A smile creeps across his face. “Interesting.”

“People are craving more news of her. She’s already spawned several memes and has exploded on Pinterest. Apparently they’re anticipating her pregnancy style choices.”

“This is sick,” Cesare says, but he’s still smiling to himself.

Micheletto reserves any judgements about what’s going on behind the scenes in his employer’s brain, and decides instead to change the subject. “So, what’s going on with your brother?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Borgia tag is mostly focused on you and your sister, but occasionally a shot of your brother slips in and, far be it from me to be someone who judges solely on appearance, but he’s looking _pretty_ rough.”

“Heh.” Cesare smirks to himself. “Serves him right for being a self-involved douche canoe.”

“It’s not just that.” Pulling up a recent photo, Micheletto zooms in on Juan’s dark form leering behind an oblivious Cesare and Lucrezia. “I’d say he’s displaced you as the shadowy lurking Borgia brother.”

Cesare studies the image for a while, zooming in and out of the photo while a frown steadily furrows on his face. “When was this taken?” he asks, handing the phone back.

“Three days ago.”

“Something’s up with him,” he says firmly. “I’ve seen Juan in basically every state of inebriation, on almost any drug you can think of. He’s never looked like that... so angry and _focused._ He’s always been falling over himself in the past.”

Cesare pauses before continuing. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take care of Lucrezia; I need you to focus on Juan. Find out what’s going on with him...what’s motivating him right now. Like, I know that things have been rough, but he almost looks like he’s been possessed.”

Micheletto is already composing a mass text to all of his contacts, made up of mostly clueless teenagers and shady connections from his past. “Keep an eye out on Juan...right. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll keep in touch.” Cesare blows his unruly hair out of his eyes and pulls on his jacket. “Now, if you don’t mind me, I’m off to the supermarket to grab some cereal.”

***

It’s dark by the time he gets home. The cereal was easy enough to find, but he ended up getting into a quest to find the perfect type of peanut butter, which led to a perusal of the city’s best bakeries and then drew him into an informal wine tasting at a local liquor store. By the time he was finished all of that, it was nearly eight PM and his stomach was grumbling for sustenance, so he popped by McDonald’s and ate a burger.

_And now I remember why I never eat at McDonald’s._

But now, at almost nine PM, he’s finally home. Entering his condo with arms full of groceries, he’s struck by the sight that greets him in his living room.

It’s Lucrezia, curled up in a cozy throw and bathed in the light from the fireplace. She’s reading _The Goldfinch_ and sipping on what looks like tea from his oversized Goofy mug. It’s so beautiful and she looks so peaceful that it makes Cesare’s heart ache.

Startled by the closing door, she turns and smiles at him. “Oh, there you are. I was wondering what was taking you so long. You said you only had an afternoon meeting with your P.A.”

“I did, at first.” He brings his armful of groceries to the kitchen and starts putting it away. “But then I went shopping and I just got distracted and overwhelmed. You know how that is, right?”

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “I haven’t gone grocery shopping in years, so I honestly don’t remember, but I guess I’ll find out.”

Her beaming face is so distracting, he nearly blanks and leaves a carton of milk in the cupboard. “Uh, yeah, I guess so, but don’t worry about it right now. I can always send Micheletto for groceries.”

Finally free of the food, he stuffs the bags under the sink and heads over to the couch. He steals a sip of tea and plops down next to his sister, who giggles and cuddles up to him.

“How are you feeling?” he mumbles into her hair, relishing the tickling softness and sweet smell.

“Pretty good. I was reading a bit online, and it says that morning sickness usually starts around the sixth week, so it should be coming soon.”

He clutches her even closer, memories of her coming down with food poisoning in the third grade flooding his brain. “You’ll be fine,” he says, mostly to himself. “I’ll be here for you.”

They stay cuddled for a few while, wrapped in the blanket and each others’ arms until the clock strikes ten and Cesare remembers why he originally went grocery shopping.

“Wait here,” he instructs Lucrezia before he heads into the kitchen. He returns moments later with a bowl of Corn Pops and a spoon.

She frowns at him. “I, uh, I don’t really want cereal right now, sorry.”

Cesare laughs and brandishes the spoon with even more gusto. “Too bad! You have to eat up, you’ve earned it!”

Frown deepening, she stares at him for a few awkward seconds. Finally, he grows impatient, puts the bowl and spoon down on the coffee table, and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Look! Look at what’s trending!”

Her eyes light up, partially from the blue glow of the screen, but also from excitement. “I’m trending,” she murmurs. “I can’t believe it. But I’ve been inside reading all day.”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re in love with you, Lucrezia.” He sits back down on the couch and pulls her under his arm. “They were intrigued by you and now they love you. And why wouldn’t they? You’re the most amazing, beautiful women I have ever known.”

“Oh shut up,” she hisses, but she kisses his cheek anyway.

His eyes darken, already unnaturally lit by the firelight, and he angles her head to kiss her softly on the lips. She moans into his mouth and deepens the kiss, making his heart jump into his throat and his palms sweat.

He doesn’t really know what he expected, but he certainly didn’t expect _this._ Lucrezia crawls onto his lap in an instant, mumbling promises and adoration on his lips as she does. She makes quick work of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head to reveal pale, creamy skin and full breasts encased in a navy bra that quickly follows her top. Hands shaking, she unbuttons each fiddly latch on his shirt as he watches her, mute and entranced. Finally, she pulls the shirt aside and presses herself, skin on skin, against his chest.

It’s as if he can breathe again, at last. Head dizzy, Cesare clutches firmly at her back as he kisses her deeply, fingers digging slightly into the smooth skin. He can’t resist grinding up against her writhing hips, bucking into the heat that he’s only felt once but has craved ever since.

There’s no glamorous way to get out of pants in their position, but Lucrezia tries admirably, wiggling and twisting one leg at a time until she’s free of her jeans and tosses them to the side. Biting her lip, she stills his hands as they fumble at his zipper and replaces them with her own.

“Please, let me,” she says, and slides down his legs until she’s resting between them, nested in the blankets which have made their way to the floor.

There’s a vague, fuzzy part of Cesare’s brain that remembers that this is his sister and that she’s _pregnant_ and _sixteen_ , but that those thoughts vanish when she pulls his pants off, wraps her small hand around his cock, and lowers her mouth to his tip. It’s hot and wet, and her tongue is curiously licking and flicking _everywhere_  and he feels like he’s going to die and yet he’s also never felt so alive.

It feels like only a second yet also a million years have gone by when she pulls her mouth off with a ‘ _pop’_  and asks timidly, “Am I doing it right?”

 Cesare gapes down at her, sweaty hair sticking all over his face. She grins, obviously pleased by the sight of her charismatic, confident brother rendered speechless by a little flick of her tongue. Licking her lips, she kisses her way up from his knees to his inner thighs before resuming her adoration of his member.

His hip jerk involuntarily and she laughs, sending gentle vibrations down his shaft. She responds by gripping him with a firmer hand, corners of her mouth quirking as she attempts to take him deeper. Flooded with sensation, he forces his eyes open as his fingers dig into the couch cushions because deep down inside he _wants_ to see her like this, he _craves_ it.

  _You’re both depraved filth, that’s what you are,_ the dark voice in his head whispers even as his brain is clouded with _yes, more, please, please, yes, god, oh, yes._ They clash in a muddled cacophony of emotions and words and images and sounds and he’s so full of _everything_ that when Lucrezia meets his eyes with a lust darkened gaze, he can’t stop himself from groaning harshly and coming into her mouth.

 She sputters, suddenly jolted out of the moment by the bitter taste of semen in her throat. “God...I wasn’t...”

Cesare turns beet red. “I’m so sorry, I should have warned you.” He grasps for a discarded shirt to wipe himself with. “I never usually just...oh God, I’m so sorry.”

She glares at him for a moment before her face breaks into a grin and peals of laughter erupt from her throat. “You should see your face right now!” Grimacing, she takes the proffered shirt and discreetly spits the excess cum into the sleeve. “No offense. It’s a bit bitter.”

“None taken.” Scooping her up off the floor, he brushes his fingers up against her tummy and her breasts, focusing on her nipples until she starts to moan and squirm. “Thank you so much.”

“Hmmm, you’re welcome.”

She leans forward and rubs their noses together as he lets his fingers trail down between her legs. Staring up into her eyes, he stills his hand as he wordlessly asks for permission.

She rubs up against his half hard erection. “Please?”

He takes that as a yes, and slides his index finger into her. She’s just as wet and hot as he remembered, and he shudders when she swallows his groan with her mouth. She tastes like _him,_ strangely salty with a tang of bitterness. Normally he can’t stand it when he can taste himself on a woman, but it’s different when it’s from her mouth, mixed with her taste. It’s them _together_ like they’re supposed to be, and he laps it up as he thrusts his finger deeper into her while rubbing at her clit with his thumb.

He can feel the ridges on his thumb becoming more pronounced from her wetness, so he pulls back in intensity and instead strokes her inner walls with his fingers, curling them at just the right angle. He can feel her thighs shaking against his, can feel her hot, panting breaths against his face as their foreheads lean against each other.

Suddenly his hand is joined by hers, sticky with her fluids, and she rubs at her clit as he strokes inside her. “I used to do this all the time, you know,” she whispers, eyes closed. “When I used to think about you...I would imagine you kissing me and holding me, and my panties would get wet and I just _knew_ what I had to do. Sometimes I would spend hours at night just rubbing myself and imagining us doing this, imagining you touching me and fucking me and sneaking into my room and kissing me.”

He lets out a ragged moan against her lips, his dick hard against their thighs, but she’s lost to the world, panting out confessions as they move in unison.

“The first time I did it was when I was thirteen and you had just come back from school. You had grown while you were away, had gotten all hairy and muscled and manly and when I saw you get off the plane I got a weird feeling inside, like a warm feeling that spread to my pussy. As soon as we went to bed that night, I locked the door to my room, crawled into bed and began imagining you kissing me. I pretended my hand was yours as I touched myself for the first time, felt all those things for the first time. And when I came...” She shudders. “...when I came, I whispered your name. _Cesare.”_

He stares at her face as she comes, clenching around his fingers. She’s never looked more beautiful.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, dang son!  
> Okay, so I can't even pretend that this came on Wednesday, but thanks anyway for showing up! As always, I appreciate every view, comment, and kudo!
> 
> I will probably be taking a brief hiatus in the next couple of weeks because I want to go over and edit previous chapters. None of these are beta-ed (as you can probably guess) and most of them have been written at one in the morning, so they need some serious TLC. As a reward for finishing, I've decided to get this beast printed and bound for myself, so it needs to be pretty close to perfect :D
> 
> I will probably post a chapter next week, but I will definitely take the week of the 16th off, only to resume the week after!


	23. Chapter 23

Lucrezia Borgia is a fascinating woman.

Sure, Micheletto doesn’t really go for her _type,_ but even he can’t deny that her very presence is magical. Even after several weeks of non-stop surveillance, he still finds her absolutely engrossing to watch. She’s simply enthralling, with a beautiful smile, perfect porcelain features, and now the glow of motherhood which has transformed her from a pretty teen into a tantalizing Madonna.

_It’s a definite improvement over watching Juan, to say the least. That man leaks bodily fluid and pestilence wherever he goes. And his sorry excuses for companionship? And so called ‘parties?’ I’d rather babysit a tree._

Of course, when Cesare first ordered him to switch targets again and ‘shadow’ Lucrezia he wasn’t very excited. After all who, barring teenage boys, would be excited to spend their entire day sneaking around and watching a teenage girl? Even Micheletto’s loyalty was tested when, on his first day of the new assignment, he found himself squatting in a bush outside of a yoga studio waiting for Lucrezia to emerge.

 _What has this all lead me to?_ he mused, brushing some loose twigs from his pants. _From the rough streets of Vancouver’s East side to a mulberry bush outside of Charlotte Yoga. If only Mama could see me now._

He was about to call it a day when Lucrezia emerged, freshly showered, out of the studio. As if by magic, a paparazzi popped out of a bush a few down from Micheletto and began snapping pictures.

Lucrezia froze and turned to the offending photographer. “Excuse me?”

The paparazzi lowered his camera. “It’s just a job, Miss. A smile now, if you would?”

She cocked her head and gave him a dazzling smile, reminiscent of her beloved brother’s.  The offending photographer paused before taking one more picture. Micheletto was shocked when the man suddenly shook his head and lowered his rig into his bag.

“I apologize, Miss Borgia. It wasn’t right of me to bother you like this. I’ll be going now.”

Instead of being surprised, Lucrezia nodded. “Thank you very much, Mr....?”

“Jones.” The paparazzi smiled. “Winston Jones.”

Ever since that day, Micheletto studied the Borgia daughter, gleaning information from every interaction, every social cue she used. For someone with sociopathic tendencies, Lucrezia’s mastery of human interaction is a gold mine of tips and tricks for blending in and molding society.

_Hard to believe she’s only sixteen._

Three weeks with Lucrezia, and Micheletto is about to call himself her newest fan. It’s obvious that she, like Cesare, has inherited her mother’s effortless charisma and classic beauty, as well as Rodrigo’s natural gravitas and quick wit. He’s observing her outside a Starbucks as she gives lattes to two overly touchy paparazzi when the wall between them is very suddenly torn down.

She turns to his location a few tables away, hidden behind an oversized newspaper. “Hey you. Micheletto.”

His heart rate increases ever so slightly. Content to simply try and ignore her, Micheletto takes a calm sip of his green tea latte and pushes up his glasses.

His perusal of the classifieds is interrupted when she unceremoniously stomps over to his table and squashes the newspaper clutched between his hands. “Hey. I was talking to you.”

Coaching his face into an expression of indifference, he stares back up at her. “Excuse me, young lady? What do you think you’re doing to my paper?”

She laughs, a throaty melodic noise that attracts the attention of passers-by. “Don’t be stupid. I know who you are.”

“If you know who I am, then you must know why I’m here.” Lowering his voice, he leans closer to her smiling face, frowning. “I can’t very well protect you after you go blasting my cover like this, Miss Borgia.”

“ _Protect_ me?” She laughs again. “From what? From who? And why does he think I need protecting?”

Micheletto chooses not to answer and instead takes another sip of his drink.

With a huff, Lucrezia pulls out a chair and slumps down across from him. “Look,” she starts. “I know that Cesare’s paying you to follow me around or whatever, and I just want you to go back to him and tell him to stop. I appreciate his attention and everything, but this is getting old.

Micheletto raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “I’m afraid that’s not the way it works. I can’t tell him what to do.”

“Well _I’m_ the one being followed, and _I’m_ the one who is sick and tired of it.” She reaches to take a sip of his latte, but changes her mind at the last second and puts the cup down. “Ugh, matcha. How can you drink this stuff?”

“Easy.” Micheletto takes a long drag through the straw. Lucrezia leans in to watch him intently, and the sickly sweet smell of perfume and laundry soap rushes up his nostrils. It doesn’t mesh well with the sharp green bitterness of his tea and he coughs.

_So familiar, so familiar..._

Apparently satisfied with his matcha drinking abilities, she leans back in her chair, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “So, my protection. What is it again that you’re protecting me from?”

“Anything. Ces-Mr. Borgia has instructed me to shadow you and watch out for anything suspicious. I did the same for Juan a few weeks ago. He’s only concerned with your safety.”

“God. So you mean you were protecting Juan from himself then, hmm?” She twists a long, curly strand of hair between her fingers and clucks her tongue. “So...what are you protecting me from right now?”

Micheletto is about to point out the various hazards located in this particular Starbucks when he notices something strange. “Those men...the paparazzi...where did they...?” he mumbles to himself. His head starts to pound and a wave of nausea rolls through his stomach.

“I told them I had to have a chat with you and that they should wait for me over by the parking lot.” She shrugs. “And then I gave them lattes sprinkled with a little bit of K to make sure they stayed away. I’m tired of being followed, Micheletto. I’m sure you understand that.”

_Ketamine. Fuck._

Eyes widening, he throws his drink into the nearest garbage can and jumps to his feet. Lucrezia rises too, her face hard with determination. Eyes narrowed, she thrusts a finger in his face.

“You go to my brother and tell him that I don’t _appreciate_ being followed by his lackeys AND I don’t _appreciate_ him thinking that I can’t take care of myself. So what if I’m pregnant? Big deal! It doesn’t mean I’m stupid or useless! If he wants to follow me...fine, but I’m not his child. I don’t need babysitting.” Her face softens. “I am sorry to get you involved in this, but I hope you know this isn’t personal. You seem like a nice guy and you _are_ super loyal, at least.”

She pulls a water bottle out of her purse and sets it down on the table. Smiling sympathetically, she pushes Micheletto down onto the chair with one hand, his quivering body offering no opposition. “I would just sit here and chill for a few moments, if I were you,” she says.  “Don’t want you to get into any more trouble.”

Donning a pair of shades, she gives him a pat on the head before sauntering off by herself. He groans, limbs shaking and stomach heaving.

_Yes...stay here...yes, take a break water yes so sick thirsty..listen...yes, she...be safe so tiredso tired..._

Even in his drug addled state, he smiles a loopy smirk as he slips into non-coherence.

_I’m a nice guy. Heh._

***

_Brown the pork. Check._

_Brown the beef. Check._

_Drain the fat. Check._

Cesare’s just frying the onions and garlic for his ragu when the buzzer to his condo rings obnoxiously. Cursing the timing, he turns down the stove and reaches for his phone.

“Yes?”

_“It’s me, Cesare, let me in.”_

Juan’s voice sounds...strange, even through the mild distortion of the buzzer. He sounds loopy and far away and, as he waits for his brother’s arrival, Cesare prepares himself for whatever state Juan chooses to arrive in.

It’s a minute before he barges in, pupils blown and skin slightly flushed and sweaty. His shirt is sticking to his chest and dark moist spots are blooming under his armpits. Sniffing the air, he comments, “Dinner already?”

Cesare’s brow furrows as he returns to his cooking. “Already? It’s almost eight. Where have you been all day?”

“Oh, you know. Out.”

Juan’s eyes go slightly crossed for a few seconds before he shakes his head and rights himself. Cesare lets out a gust of breath he didn’t know he was holding and grabs a knife and chopping board. “Out. Okay, sounds both safe and productive.”

“Yeah, yeah. So...how’s it been?” Juan flashes a knowing smile. “New place, new jobs, lots of paparazzi.”

“It’s good,” Cesare replies. He retrieves a bag of mushrooms and a green pepper from the fridge and gives them each a quick rinse in the sink. “Different but good. How have things been for you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, you know. Politics.”

“Of course. Politics.” His eyes linger on Juan’s hands, which are riddled with tiny cuts and scratches. “Can be dangerous nowadays. Watch yourself.”

“Same for you.”

They’re silent for a few moments; Juan’s laboured breathing and the sound of Cesare chopping mushrooms providing a steady beat as the brothers glance at each other appraisingly. Satisfied with the state of his diced fungus, Cesare slides them into the pan and gives the mix a little stir.

“So, is Lucrezia coming over?”

“Mhhhmmm.”

“Thought so.”

“Hmmm?” Cesare looks up from peeling the sticker off of his pepper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means? She’s been over here all the time ever since the...news broke. I haven’t seen her at home since then.”

“She’s pregnant, Juan, not dying.” He chops the pepper in half with one swoop. “And I don’t know what everyone expected after Father went indiscriminately live with the news.”

“Well, I guess so, but you can’t claim to be totally upset and hurt by it. I mean, you’ve gotten so much press over this, both of you. I bet you’re just lapping it all up, all of the attention and accolades.” Juan’s glare sharpens as he turns towards his brother. “I bet the press would start singing a different tune if they realised you’re the one responsible for her condition.”

Cesare’s hand involuntarily flexes around the handle of the knife, but he keeps his face composed and his vegetable chopping steady. Sure, Juan’s emotional cattle prodding had done some significant family damage recently, but there was no need for Cesare to worry that his brother had actually uncovered one of his darkest secrets. After all, underneath his slightly endearing and handsome demeanour, Juan was still an unfailingly dense and unobservant creature. And he and Lucrezia had been so careful.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me,” Juan hisses, face swooping in until he’s almost eye to eye with Cesare.

“I heard you. I just don’t understand what you meant by your statement, that’s all.” Brushing the now expertly diced pepper into the simmering sauce, Cesare sets the knife delicately down on the counter and brushes his hands off on his pants. “I wasn’t part of the whole True Love Waits thing at all. And hiring Gio Sforza was never _my_ idea.”

“Don’t be coy.”

Not normally one for such childish fantasies, Cesare wishes for one moment that he had the power of telepathy so that he could scour Juan’s mind and really _know_ once and for all what his brother knows. The smirk and quirked eyebrow are all stereotypically Juan, but there’s a lingering darkness in his brother’s gaze which makes Cesare’s stomach knot. It looks like he _knows_ something, knows _it,_ that one tumultuous secret that could rip everything apart.

Resisting the urge to wipe his sweating palms on his sleeves, Cesare closes his eyes for a moment.  

_Honesty is my telepathy._

“Okay, fine.” Chef’s knife still caught in the corner of his eye, Cesare rounds on his brother’s tense form, pinning the other man to the counter with his stare. “No more games, Juan. Tell me what you know, and then we can talk. I’m tired off all of this bullshitting that we do with each other. We’re brothers, after all. We should be able to be honest with each other.”

“Brothers.” Juan chuckles and shakes his head. “What does that really mean, to be brothers? To love each other like brothers do?”

“Juan...”

“No, really. Just tell me, honestly, like you wanted...are we really brothers?” Slinking past the kitchen island, Juan slides his slim frame in front of Cesare’s bulkier one. He stares up, eyes hooded and mouth slightly open in a pout, inching forward into his brother’s personal space.

“Jesus!” Cesare skitters back into the kitchen until his back abruptly meets the counter. Juan persists, honing in on Cesare’s form until the two are almost nose to nose.

“Come on, Cesare,” he whispers. “Don’t you love me like a brother? Can’t we love each other like brothers do?”

“You’re fucking drunk, Juan,” Cesare sputters, more for himself than for the benefit of his obviously not-lucid brother. “You’re drunk or high or something. Just calm down.”

“Don’t you _fucking_ tell me what to do!” Juan postures, spraying Cesare’s face in foul smelling spit. “Not when you’ve completely _fucked_ over our family and _fucked_ our sister too.”

“Juan...”

“Honesty, Cesare! Isn’t that what you want? Fine, here it is! I _know_ you’ve been fucking Lucrezia behind our backs!” He throws his hands in the air and backs away, as if daring his brother to make a move.

Cesare remains motionless, his back still pressed against the countertop. Juan stares at him, wide eyed and tense, waiting for a verbal or physical blow, his face just slightly twitching with anticipation.

Finally, Cesare responds. “Okay.”

Juan explodes. “Okay? OKAY? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Yes. I-I guess it is.”

Cesare’s voice is deeply calm, tinged with an uncharacteristic roughness. The two men stare at each other for a few uncomfortable minutes, time punctuated by the steady ticking of the living room clock.

“How _dare_ you just stand there and admit such a thing,” Juan spits. He turns and rubs his face with his hand before continuing. “You...you should be in jail...you’re a letcher! A pedophile! Taking advantage of our-our... _my_ beautiful, innocent sister...she’s still a _child_...how can you live with yourself?”

Cesare bristles. “How can _I_ live with myself? You’ve been fucking underage prostitutes and smoking away the family’s money for ages! And your whole ‘political career?’ What a fucking joke! It’s damn waste of time and money and just a stupid excuse for attention.”  

“This is _not_ about me! Don’t change the subject.”

They face each other, Juan’s chest heaving. Nostrils flaring, he takes in a huge breath and mutters, “Of course Father doesn’t even care. He thinks I’m _crazy_.” He pauses for a moment to shake his head, his lip curling unattractively. “How...? Ugh. I can’t even think about it.”

Cesare’s heart thumps in his chest. “You...told him? You _told_ him?”

“Of course I told him, you’re sleeping with his daughter! He deserves to know.” Chuckling to himself, Juan rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like he believed me.”

Before he even realises it, Cesare has him backed up against the wall with the chef’s knife clutched against his throat.  “How _dare_ you? You could have ruined us. You would have ruined everything!”

Juan’s face is calm, as if being threatened at knife point is a common occurrence for him. “Like you ruined her?”

The knife is steady, but Cesare’s eyes twitch dangerously. “What are you on, Juan? Just tell me, and we can get you fixed. Send you away for a few months of rehab.”

“Oh _wouldn’t you like to know_ , Cesare. Wouldn’t you like to just get rid of me so that you could fuck Lucrezia and whisper lies into Mother’s ear without being disturbed.” He sneers. “And would you stop it with this whole ‘Godfather’ schtick, Cesare? Who do you think you are, you pussy? You and I both know that in five minutes I’ll walk out here and...”

Again, his hand moves before Cesare is fully aware of the action. As if of its own free will, the knife slices through Juan’s stubbly neck in one smooth motion, producing a clean incision that almost immediately wells with blood. A faint, metallic odor floods the air, mingling with the Italian herbs and spices as the fresh blood spurts from the cut in deep burgundy waves.  

Juan’s eyes are wide, reflecting Cesare’s sneer back at him. Cesare feels his resolve slip at the sight of his brother’s panic.

_Jesus...Jesus...Jesus..._

“You’re no different,” he whisperers, more to himself than his dying brother. “I’ve killed before...Gio Sforza, actually, and you’re no different. Just like him, actually. A lying, cheating, scumbag waste of space sack of putrid meat...fucking waste of space, fucking disappointment.”

It’s all for his benefit. Juan’s last hisses are just a bonus.

“Won’t let you hurt us. Can’t let you hurt us.” It’s a mantra as he slowly lowers the knife. “Won’t let you hurt them...”

Mechanically, he sets the knife on a spare dishcloth and reaches for his phone. As usual, Micheletto picks up after the first ring.

“ _Hngh...Yes?”_

“I...I have an errand for you. You okay?”

His tone doesn’t give much away, but Micheletto is a pretty observant guy, even though he sounds like he’s been run over by a car.

“ _Of course. Don’t worry about it.  I’ll be right there.”_

It takes less than ten minutes for Micheletto to arrive, but it feels like years to Cesare, whose entire world is filled with the scent and the color of blood, punctuated by the sour sweet odor of caramelizing onions. He quickly plugs the sink and flips his brother over so that the blood is contained, and he sops up the rest with a couple rolls of paper towel he grabs from the pantry.

It’s not until after he buzzes Micheletto in that he realises one sobering fact...one unanswered question.

 _When did he die?_ Is _he dead? I didn’t watch him die._

He’s leaning against the counter, chewing nervously on his thumbnail when his PA- slash co-conspirator  slinks into the room, customary bag of thrift shop clothing in one hand and a shiny mini keg in the other. Micheletto pauses for a moment when he spots Juan’s lifeless form.

“Oh.”

Cesare stops mid-chew and pulls his thumb out of his mouth. “I think he’s dead.”

“You think so?” Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Micheletto crosses the small foyer into the kitchen. “Well, it’s better to be safe than sorry. May I?”

After moment of careful corpse prodding, he nods. “Well, he’s dead.”

“I had no choice!” Cesare mumbles, still frozen at his perch on the counter. “He knew...things.”

“Things, eh?”

“Things.”

Micheletto sighs and begins pulling faded Nineties clothing from his plastic bag. In one smooth motion, he peels off his polo shirt and replaces it with a mottled grey sweatshirt emblazoned with the Club Med logo. “Must have been important things,” he comments in a low voice.

Cesare remains stoic. “Yup.”

Turning to his bag, Micheletto fishes out a pair of banged up kitchen shears. “Well, that’s that I guess.” He brandishes the shears and walks over to Juan’s prostrate corpse.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

His hand stills on the collar of Juan’s shirt as Cesare jumps up from his position. Composing himself, the other man rubs his face with his hands before continuing.

“It’s just...his clothes. I need his clothes...I-I need to _wear_ his clothes and leave the building so people don’t think...things.”

“The truth, you mean? So that people don’t suspect the truth.” Micheletto places the shears on the counter and faces Cesare. “I need to make sure you’re still with me. You killed your brother. _For whatever reason_ you killed your brother, and I’m not judging you or anything, but I need to make sure you’re not going into shock. Do you need your sister?”

Cesare laughs. “No, I’m fine, really. It’s just...it was just like you said. Too easy. I didn’t even watch him as he died...I don’t even know when he died. I just did it and tossed him aside and it didn’t even really hit me...it hasn’t even yet.”

Micheletto shrugs. “Seems normal. The remorse may come, and then again it may not. There’s not really a standard of normal emotions when it comes to killing.”

The ‘M’ word is conspicuously absent, as if deeming it ‘ _murder’_ automatically somehow humanizes the corpse lying between them. Cesare is thankful because he’s not _quite_ sure he could handle the ramifications of the word, with all of it legal connotations and ramifications. It’s just a killing, simple as that, and will remain just a killing as long as he’s smart about what happens next.

It takes a surprisingly long time to undress his brother’s lifeless body, but Cesare manages to do it with only a couple of embarrassing grunts of frustration. Micheletto is busy bustling around the condo, fetching seemingly random objects like moving tubs, Vaseline, tarps, and a hacksaw. As he pulls on Juan’s pants, Cesare pauses and stares at the motley scene in his foyer, where Micheletto is currently taping a drop cloth to his floor.

“I didn’t realise this was so complicated. I thought you would just bury his body, like you did with Sforza’s.”

“You thought I buried his body?” Micheletto shakes his head. “Come on, this isn’t the Nineties. We’ve all watched TV and gone on the Internet enough times to know that there are better ways.”

“If you say so.” Peering at his reflection in the toaster, Cesare slicks his hair back to mimic his brother’s style. “Well, have fun. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. It’ll take me some time to leave without showing my face to the cameras, and then I’ll need to sneak in the back way.”

Micheletto nods, currently preoccupied with screwing the blade into his hacksaw. Satisfied with his own plan, Cesare takes one last look at Juan’s naked form sprawled across his plastic-covered form. He waits for a moment out of respect, but the pangs of remorse fail to appear. Instead, all he feels is a deep, warm feeling of satisfaction.

“Bye Juan,” he says with finality. “You were a shit brother anyway.”

He’s halfway down the hallway before he remembers.

Heart pounding, he sprints back to his condo, turning his head to the side to obscure his face even as he opens his door a crack and pokes his head in. “Jesus, Micheletto, I almost forgot.”

The other man looks up, surprise and concern on his face. “What? Forgot what?”

Cesare grins. “Don’t forget to turn off those fucking onions. Can’t afford to set off the smoke detector.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaccckkk! Sorry for taking so long :( I actually just moved and had to wait a while to get internet, but now I have it and I'm (mostly) unpacked and everything is A-ok!
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience and views and reviews. I don't think I'll be able to stick with a super consistent posting schedule for now, but I'll try to get a chapter out every week. :D


	24. Chapter 24

Cesare is just out of range of his building’s security cameras when he is abruptly accosted by a flushed and furious Lucrezia. Her eyes are wide with rage, hidden slightly by a pair of oversized sunglasses that have slipped halfway down her nose.

“What! Were! You! _Thinking?_ ” she hisses, punctuating each word with a poke to his chest. “Having me followed? What am I, a _dog?”_

He twitches. “Why would someone have their dog followed?”

“Because if they ran away...augh, I don’t know! The point is, _you_ got your little man servant to follow me, and I don’t appreciate that.”

They stare at each other for a moment, equally stone-faced, the tension punctuated by traffic noise and cheerful bird calls. Finally, Cesare’s face breaks and softens.

“I’m sorry,” he says with heartfelt sincerity. “I just...you know me. I sometimes go a bit overboard.”

“You think?” Lucrezia sneer remains, but he can see the anger slowly drain from her eyes. With a nod of defeat, he reaches out and grabs her hand as a peace offering.

“I’m a psycho, I know.” He shrugs. “There’s so many people following you around now and it just takes one of them going crazy for you to be in huge trouble. I can’t just sit around and wait for that.”

“Stop being such a pessimist.” She squeezes his hand. “What are you doing down here anyway? And-and is that Juan’s shirt? What are you doing in Juan’s shirt?”

“I had to do laundry,” he responds, straight faced.

She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t even think about lying to me. You _owe_ me the truth, and that wasn’t it. ‘I had to do laundry,’” she parrots back in a mocking voice. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were an idiot,” he replies a little too quickly, and she chuckles to herself.

“Whatever. Why are you wearing Juan’s clothes? Were you out last night with him?”

“Heh. No.” Cesare stares at his sister’s face for a few aching moments as various alibis run through his head.  All of them pale in comparison to the determined scowl on her face and her iron grip on his hand.

“Fine. But I can’t tell you here.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Wh-okay? Okay.”

“Meet me up at my place.”

“Why can’t we just go up there together? Cesare?” 

He’s already taking off across the parking lot, peeling off his brother’s shirt as he jogs behind a dumpster.

Really, for being such an expensive condo, you’d think that his building would have a more thorough security system but, for once, others people’s shortcomings work out for Cesare. He skirts around the clearly visible security cameras on the exterior walls and then takes the service elevator up to his floor. Luckily there are no maintenance staff or neighbours lurking around but, then again, lately luck has been on his side.

He arrives at his door just as Lucrezia steps off the regular elevator. In a mock-gentlemanly pose, his extends his arm to escort her. “May I?”

She rolls her eyes, but takes his proffered arm anyway. “Micheletto answered your buzzer. He seems to have recovered nicely,” she volunteers, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Cesare bites back an inquiry, his instincts screaming that she wants to open another can of worms that would turn this experience into a fiasco. Instead he nods. “Yep.”

Wrinkling her nose, Lucrezia is about to respond when the condo door cracks open and Micheletto’s shaggy ginger head peeks out. “Hello Borgias,” he greets courteously. “Miss Lucrezia, it’s great to see you. Have you come to catch the tail end of the show?”

“Is...it ready?” Cesare asks. A light sheen of sweat breaks out on his brow.

Micheletto glances back at Lucrezia. “Well yes, but...are you sure she’s okay with watching in her _condition_?”

She opens her mouth to protest, but Cesare cuts her off. “From now on, Lucrezia is included in all of our plans and activities. She’s not a child, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated like one.”

Micheletto chuckles darkly. “Don’t I know it.”

“Thank you, Cesare,” Lucrezia adds softly, before perking up. “Anyways, what’s going on? Are you cooking something, Micheletto? It smells amazing!”

He shrugs. “Sort of. You could call it my own special brand of ragu.”

Stepping aside, he opens the door to let both of them into the entryway. The sight that greets them is...unusual, to say the least.

It takes Lucrezia a full minute to realize _exactly_ what’s going on in her brother’s usually immaculate condo. The furniture has been pushed aside and the plush rugs have been rolled up to make room for a giant plastic drop cloth that covers the entire expanse of hardwood floor. Various tools and buckets are lined up around the room, but the enthralling _piece de résistance_ of the entire set up is Juan’s naked and bloody body propped up like a pile of pork chops in the middle of the room.

Amidst all of this, the savoury-sweet aroma of caramelized garlic and onions lingers in the air. Eyes watering, she swallows back a gag in her throat and whispers, “Are you going to eat him?”

Cesare’s mouth drops open and his eyes narrow incredulously. “ _Eat him?_ Jesus, Lucrezia, we’re not cannibals!”

“Well, I don’t know!” she hisses back at him. “You bring me in here where it smells like pasta sauce and Juan is all ready to get chopped up, and you’re calling _me_ crazy because I think you’re going to eat him? _Fuck!”_

Stone-faced, Micheletto hands over one of the buckets. “How is your stomach? Are you feeling sick?”

“No! Well, yeah.” Lucrezia leans against the wall, eyes closed, as she tries to slow her heart beat. “It’s only natural, I guess.”

Cesare leans over and scoops her up in his arms. She doesn’t even protest as he walks over to his bedroom, _their_ bedroom, and deposits her onto the bed.

“Hey,” he mumbles, brushing her curls off of her pale face. “You okay?”

“Auuuggghhh,” she sighs.

Smiling, he pulls off his shoes and crawls down next to her. She snuggles up under his arm and he cuddles her close, holding her as the slight tremble in her body dissipates.

“What happened? Why-why?”

It’s a simple question, and it deserves a simple answer.

“He knew.”

He feels her tense up again. “Oh.”

Turning his head against hers, he peppers her forehead with soft kisses. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into her hair. “He attempted to tell Father, but Father just laughed at him and thought he was drunk or high, as usual. I’m pretty sure he didn’t tell anyone else.”

“Oh.”

“It’s strange that his perpetual drunkenness seems to have benefitted us for once.” His awkward attempt at humor goes unnoticed and he nudges her with his nose. “You okay? I’m sorry, I guess this is a bit much for your first day as part of ‘the gang.’”

“I...” She sighs. “I just don’t know what to feel. I know I’m supposed to be sad and remorseful and angry at you because he _is-was_ our brother, but really all I feel is... relieved. He was getting so obnoxious and nosy and I had a feeling that _someone_ would have to do it... and I guess I’m glad it wasn’t me. Is that bad?”

“You can feel whatever you want. He was our brother, but at the same time he was also a super shitty one who was drunk all the time and was only interested in getting his dick wet. I don’t think you have to pretend to feel anything at all. Just feel whatever you want to.” He pauses. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m just a little bit worried, I guess. Is this going to be a pattern with you, all of this killing and stuff? I don’t want you to go to jail or get the death penalty.” Choking back a sob, she snuggles closer into his chest. “I don’t think...I don’t think I could live without you.”

“I know.”

He squeezes her close and closes his eyes even as his mind races.

“I feel the same way. That’s why I did it, you know.”

There’s a sharp ‘ _crack’_ from the living room followed by a whispered “ _fuck.”_ A moment later, Micheletto pokes his head into the bedroom. If he’s fazed by the siblings cuddling in bed, he doesn’t show it. “Sorry about the noise. The femur is...” He shrugs and gestures with his hacksaw, “... _difficult._ I’ll try to be quieter.”

Lucrezia attempts to squirm into a more platonic position, but Cesare holds her fast to his chest until the door closes.

“Do you think he knows?” she blurts out. “Micheletto, I mean.”

Staring up at the crown moulding that trims his grey painted walls, Cesare responds. “Honestly? No. Also, I don’t really think it matters to him, these relationship things. Besides, he knows so much about me. He’s basically been there for almost every questionable decision I’ve made in my life. What’s more important, though, is that I know him. He’s a solid guy...and I trust him. With everything.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she smiles and sighs. “Good. It’s getting kind of tiring having to stay away from you around _everyone_.”

He laughs into her hair. “Augh, my angel.”

“But Cesare...” Lucrezia shivers. “I mean...you did kill our brother. What does this all mean for you?”

“Brother? Pffft. He was our brother until he tried to betray us. We’re a family, and families stick together. As soon as someone attempts to betray us, they’re out of the family and they become our enemy. That’s how it works. That’s how family works.”

“I know, love, I know.” She wriggles out of his arms and props herself up on her elbow, golden curls fanning out around her face. Pursing her lips, she tilts her head to the side, as if she has something extremely difficult to say. “It’s not only that though. All the killing...do you really think you’ll stand a chance at getting into heaven now?”

“Heh.” Rubbing his face with his free hand, Cesare chuckles to himself. “That’s the thing... that sort of stuff doesn’t really bother me anymore. Hasn’t bothered me for a bit now.”

Lucrezia’s eyes widen. “What do you mean it doesn’t _bother_ you? Are you saying you don’t believe in Heaven? In God? In Jesus?”

“I don’t know!” He shakes his head, burrowing deeper into his goose down pillow. “And that’s the problem! I’ve never known for sure, you know? It’s never been easy for me; all the piety and prayer and worship songs never seemed to do anything.”

“But it’s not supposed to do anything for you. It’s not for you, it’s for God.”

“I know that. It’s just... never been real. I kept thinking that there was something wrong with me, like maybe I wasn’t faithful enough or focused enough or I wasn’t trying hard enough to really _sense_ his presence, but after all of my time in church and seminary, I’ve finally come to the realisation that _I’m tired of waiting._ ” 

Cesare locks eyes with Lucrezia. “I can’t believe that there’s a God that would give me such a longing for you and then turn around and condemn me for it. And even through all of my studies, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that we’re meant for each other.”

She smiles softly and replies, “I guess that’s where we’re different. For you, our attraction to each other is proof that God doesn’t exist, but for me...Cesare, when you look at me like I’m the only person in the world...I see God in that. These feelings I have for you, I imagine that they’re an echo of the unconditional love God has for us. When you’re gone I feel empty and dead in the Spirit, but with one touch God comes rushing back into me.”

“Pneuma,” he whispers, tracing her lips with his index finger. “The breath of God like a mighty wind.”

“Exactly. What we have is so precious and so rare, it must be a gift from Him.”

Cesare smiles and places a delicate kiss on his sister’s lips. “If you say so, my love. My angel.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m serious. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me...you _complete_ me.”

“God, you sound like someone from a Nicholas Sparks novel right now.”

“Have you been reading my books again?” Lucrezia cocks her head, then leans forward and bumps her brother’s nose with her own. “Sounds like someone’s been bored.”

With a moan, Cesare wraps his hand around the back of her neck and pulls their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. She growls and nips the bottom of his lip, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

Unfortunately, even though exploring his sister’s beautiful mouth with his tongue is one of his favourite activities, Cesare can’t fully shake the nagging stress that’s building up in the back of his mind. This _situation_ they’re in, for all the predestination Lucrezia chooses to believe in, is so tenuous and fragile that he can’t fully relax. The fact that everything was almost derailed by his idiot brother, for instance, just proves how dangerous their lives have become. And now with the baby...

“I just have to keep you safe, you know?” he pleads against her kisses. “Keep us safe, keep the baby safe.”

She laughs, her nose making little snorting noises against his cheek. Taking a quick pause for breath, she reassures him. “Remember, I’m not a little girl any more. I can take care of us too, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” he assures her, but even to him, his voice sounds hollow. Sure, he can say whatever he wants to appease her, but deep down inside, he still doesn’t really have confidence in her abilities. Her eyes are still too soft, her face too round and babyish to convince him that she would really have what it takes to get down and dirty, to _protect_  them like he can.  

_KNOCK KNOCK!_

“Sorry if I’m interrupting, but I’m almost finished, just in case you have any last words.” Micheletto’s voice is slightly muffled by the door which he, mercifully, keeps closed.

Lucrezia sighs into Cesare’s mouth and leans her forehead against his. “Well, I guess we do owe him that much. If not anything else...we should at least be there for his final moments as a human body.”

“You make it sound like such a dignified end.” With a final groan of protest, Cesare peels himself off of the bed and pulls Lucrezia up with him. She blushes and straightens her shirt before heading out into the living room.

With almost every personal article pushed aside, covered, or removed, the sole focal point of the room is the large plastic tote filled with an acrid stew of acid and chunks of... _Juan_. The macabre sight is only  enhanced by the deceased’s head perched atop the pile of flesh and bones, eyes forever locked in a shocked expression that seems to pierce Cesare’s very soul.

_If I even still have a soul._

“Well, I guess this is it.” Lucrezia pushes her nose into her hand. “He was a pretty gross guy when he was alive, so I guess it’s appropriate that he dies in a gross way too.”

“He was already dead but...yeah.” Cesare grips her hand in his. “I get what you’re saying.”

Micheletto uses a paint stir stick to poke the slowly melting ooze.“And, if I may say so, good riddance as well. Especially for what he did to you.”

Cesare stiffens. “What did he do to me?”

“Oh not you.” Micheletto shrugs. “For what he did to Miss Lucrezia. Selling her out to Giovanni Sforza for twenty grand in cash and some political contacts.”

Cesare’s vision flashes white for a moment and he staggers, eye fixed on the slowly decomposing pieces of his brother floating in the Rubbermaid container. “He did... _what?_ ”

With a quick eye flick at Lucrezia, Micheletto continues. “The so called date that was planned on the night you were assaulted, Miss Borgia...it was a set up orchestrated by your brother and Gio Sforza. Juan promised Sforza your virginity in exchange for the previously mentioned cash and contacts.” 

“WHAT?”

Not even flinching at her brother’s outburst, Lucrezia remains impassive, save for a quick eyebrow raise before she darts into the bedroom and shuts the door behind her. There’s a quiet ‘ _click’_ when the door locks.

 Cesare rounds on Micheletto, pulse rising. “How could you...when did you find this out? Why didn’t you tell me?”

For one brief moment, a look of panic crosses Micheletto’s normally impassive face. “I didn’t- _wasn’t_ thinking. I had just... figured you had enough on your plate at that point. I found out about two weeks after the incident from one of my contacts who’s an accountant at Forli Shipping Associates. I didn’t mean to deceive you, I swear it.”

“You say that, but you still never told me...didn’t tell me until _now_!”

“Would it have made a difference?”

With a cry of rage, Cesare lunges at the other man. Pinning him to the wall with one arm, he leans forward and spits, “It doesn’t _matter._ You chose to hide this from me, and that wasn’t your decision to make!”

Micheletto drops his gaze and consciously unflexes his fists at his side. His face flushes.

“You forget, Micheletto. I am not your friend. I am not your co-conspirator and you are not my babysitter. I am your _employer_ and you are my resource and informant, _nothing else._ You don’t get to choose what information to pass along to me and what to keep for yourself. What else have you hidden from me?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear it.”

“You’d better fucking believe that there’s nothing else!”  Cesare steps back and takes in a couple of deep breaths. “Just the fact that...” He huffs out another breath. “...I mean, this is _Lucrezia_ we’re talking about. She comes first, she _always_ comes first, I don’t care if you think you’re saving me or protecting me or anything! You hid this from me that-that he _hurt_ her. I can’t...I-I’m... _fuck!”_

His heart won’t stop pounding and he’s feels like he’s going to puke. The body in the room isn’t helping, of course, but it’s really the adrenaline and the betrayal and just everything that keeps coming up and the way Micheletto is slumped against the wall like the air’s been let out of him. He feels like he’s been tricked, which is stupid of course, but at the same time his need for control is ballooning up like an anxiety attack and he just needs to get a _handle_ on things.

And Micheletto...the other man has a strange, twisted expression on his face but, when he looks up at Cesare, there’s a tear running from his right eye that he quickly bats away.

“I didn’t know. I was so stupid, I apologize.”

“Damn right you were stupid. I never expected this from you, I...” Cesare lets out a deep sigh.

_If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself._

“Just-just...get out.”

Micheletto crumples, his face falling into his hands. “I can understand if you wish to...end our arrangement...”

“I said get out!”

Composing his face, he half heartedly gestures with his hand. “What about the body?”

Cesare gapes at him, eyes darting between the other man and the dissolving corpse of his unfortunate brother. “Jesus. Well, auuuggghhh.” He wrings his hands awkwardly. “Take care of it, I guess. Then leave.” 

Micheletto nods, his ruddy face flushed with stress. “Of course. Whatever you say.”

The whole Juan’s body debacle has already left Cesare’s mind as he purposefully stalks over to his bedroom door, leaving his former P.A. to dispose of the putrid remains. He stops short of unlocking it, and instead raps lightly on the doorframe.“My love?”

There’s a sniffle. “What?”

“May I come in?”

The door creaks open as Lucrezia unlocks it. Head bowed respectfully, Cesare slinks behind her and joins her on the bed.

“Hey?” he murmurs, wiping a stray tear from her face with his thumb. “You okay?”

“I’m just sick of it, okay?” She wrings her hands dramatically, mucus running freely from her nose. “I’m sick of everyone constantly trying to sell me without my knowledge and it’s just _fucked up_ that Juan actually succeeded because he was just a stupid asshole and I _hate him_! I hate him for it!”

Cesare takes a couple of calming breaths and grasps her hands in his. Methodically, he kisses the tip of each finger, maintaining eye contact as he does until her sobbing subsides and her nose stops running. “I swear to you,” he says between kisses. “I swear that _you_ , and only you, are my priority and nothing comes in between that. Not our parents, not fame, money, Micheletto, just you.”

She shakes her head. “I should have killed him. Juan, I mean, not Micheletto, though I guess I did have the chance. And I am grateful that you did it, but now... it’s bittersweet. That I’ll never be able to tell him how I really felt about him”

Cesare smiles and leans in for another kiss, but she stops him with a finger. “He loved me too, you know. Like, not in the same way we love each other, but like I was the most beautiful thing in the world. He put me up on a pedestal and I guess he just never really saw me as an actual person. But he loved me.”

“S’not love. He just objectified you.”

“No, he loved me. Just in his own way.”

Cocking his head, Cesare stares at her tear stained face. “Does it matter?”

She stares right back at him, her blue grey eyes narrowed. “Yeah.  Yeah it does. Because I love- loved him too, even though he was a mess.” Eyes still locked on Cesare’s, she reaches into the pocket of her sweater and pulls out a small cosmetic pouch. Methodically, she unzips the bag and slowly removes several vials and bottles, each filled with a different pill or liquid, and lines them up on the bedspread in front of her. “I loved him enough to plan out how I wanted to kill him, painlessly... but I still wanted him to know who did it, and to know why.”

 _Ketamine. Epinephrine. Arsenic. Crystal meth._ There’s even a vial of Botox in her little stash, paired with a carefully sealed hypodermic needle. Cesare’s head swims and he wants to respond, to ask so many questions, but the words just aren’t coming out.

“So, yeah, I know that you still don’t fully trust me to take care of myself, and that’s fine. You’re my big brother, I get that. And I am pregnant, I get that too.” Lucrezia absentmindedly rolls a tiny bottle of naloxone between her fingers. “I just want you to know, though, that I can do it. I can take care of myself and my baby and you. I can take care of you... I just need you to trust me, a hundred percent.”

He never doubts her again.

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

_TIME MAGAZINE People of the Year Shortlist 2013_

_CESARE BORGIA, The Millennial Messiah_

_As soon as Cesare Borgia emerges from his cherry red Porsche Cayenne, there’s a flurry of raised phones and camera flashes. The sidewalk outside of the run down diner suddenly becomes too narrow to hold the jostling crowd of bodies with craned arms and necks straining to catch a glimpse of the country’s newest celebrity prince. Ever the charmer, the charismatic 24 year old author pauses to smile at the crowd of young women who have seemingly materialised out of thin air, nodding apologetically to his waiting publicist who is practically vibrating with impatience._

_“Sorry, Jan.” He flashes her his famous grin, and her anger visibly melts away. “There was traffic.”_

_It’s almost hard to believe that the swaths of LA traffic don’t part like the Red Sea for this enigmatic Christian poster boy._

_He’s in town for barely a week and is booked solid for all five days. Surrounded by a team of publicists and PAs, Borgia moves like a whirlwind from each appearance, stirring up headlines and cover stories in his wake. First it’s a morning appearance on Ellen, where he publically apologizes for the homophobic hate crimes perpetrated by the evangelical church. Next he’s dancing with puppets on Craig Ferguson. Last night he enthralled audiences on Jimmy Kimmel with his knowledge of Tolkien mythology._

_Apparently Colbert called, and they’re having him on next month._

_“I guess I just like being honest.” He pauses to order a burger and fries from a blushing waitress, who’s shaking so hard she drops her pen. Jan the publicist rolls her eyes and retrieves it._

_“Please be prompt. Mr. Borgia has another appointment in forty five minutes.”_

_The trembling waitress nods and scurries off._

_Tilting his head, Borgia smiles at Jan. “Would you mind calling Eric for me about the New York trip? I think there’s some last minute details that need to be ironed out.”_

_She’s gone in a flash, and he visibly relaxes._

_“She’s such a sweetheart, but it’s nice to have some space, you know?”_

_Space is the one thing Cesare Borgia seems to crave above all else. The second child of notorious conservative evangelist Rodrigo Borgia, he’s been adjacent to the spotlight his entire life._

_Recently, the family has been going through what can only be described as a serious of Job-esque trials. Not even a year ago, Borgia Sr. was thrust into the leader’s chair of the Association, the notorious global Christian organization which, unbeknownst to its followers, had been haemorrhaging money for years. A month later, sixteen year old Lucrezia (Borgia’s sister) was raped by an unknown assailant, leaving the family scrambling to protect itself from prying media. The scandal drove away the Association’s last big investor, Caterina Sforza of Forli Shipping, and the organization was left to rot. The final indignity was the apparent murder of Borgia eldest Juan, whose rocky political career has been tabloid fodder for years._

_When asked about his family’s past woes, Borgia smiles. “It’s been a rough couple of months, yeah, but it’s been important. My family was so untouchable for a while, and I think it really hurt the ministry. As soon as you start becoming detached from the people you’re supposed to help...well, that’s where it starts going downhill. But, as the old saying goes, every cloud has a silver lining. God always provides.”_

_Remarkably, the old adage is especially pertinent in his case. By cutting ties with his father and the Association, Borgia managed to avoid being implicated in the case against Forli Shipping, whose ties to the Genovese crime family were discovered two weeks ago. The Department of Justice has theorized that Sforza’s investments in the Association were just a money laundering scheme for the Mafia, and both Rodrigo Borgia and his advisor Ascanio Sforza are currently under watch._

_When asked about his sister’s teen pregnancy, Borgia’s face lights up. “She’s doing really well! She’s a few months along and things couldn’t be better. I’m so proud of her; she’s really taking something that could be negative and just running with it.”_

_Ironically, it was his sister’s rape and pregnancy that inspired this religious fervour in the first place._

_“It really hit me that the reason Lucrezia was assaulted was because we as a society- and especially we as evangelical Christians, have created an environment that is rape conducive. We suppress consensual sexual expression and instead advertize objectification, fetishization, and what I like to call ‘false chastity,’ which is the deification of post-marital, heterosexual sex at the expense of all others.”_

_Not content with simply shaking up the Church’s views on sex, Borgia publicly decried the Association’s moral stances at a now-infamous November conference in Vancouver, Canada. He’s been riding a publicity high ever since, bolstered by various media appearances and his upcoming book,_ Dear Christianity, _an epistolary criticism of evangelical fundamentalism that’s receiving rave reviews._

_However, all of this media coverage and hype would not be possible without Borgia’s undeniable charisma, as evidenced by the crowd of followers that seems to appear wherever he goes._

_“The internet is an amazing thing,” he explains, sipping on an after-lunch Americano. “It allows people to literally know my every move from any location on the planet.”_

_Lesser men may find such a breach of privacy intrusive, but Borgia embraces it._

_“It’s really just accountability. People are generally very friendly and respectful out on the street, especially if I’m out with my sister. I strive to not have anything to hide in my life, to be transparent and honest with people. I guess it’s just a way of atoning for the sins of those who have come before me.”_

_Borgia is characteristically open with his motives and finances and claims to be a ‘one-man reparation squad.’ He’s already funded ten shelters, six for battered women and four for LGBTQ youth. All have been privately sponsored out of his own pocket. He shuns any suggestions that he should start his own non-profit organization, claiming it would be impossible under his own standards of accountability._

_“People hide behind corporations,” Borgia states. “My father did, just like many church leaders before him. I want to be accountable, I want everything above board, and I want to be taxed, just like everyone else. We should strive for simplicity, Christ’s simplicity in everything.”_

_When it comes down to it, the heart of Cesare Borgia’s message is a revalidation of Jesus Christ’s position in Christianity._

_“When I talk to people who have left the church, who hate the church and everything it stands for, I am struck by the fact that they never hate Jesus. Even the most cynical anti-religious type begrudgingly respects the idea of Christ and what he hypothetically stood for. I just want to bring that simplicity back. Humility. Patience. Honesty. Love. Forgiveness.”_

_Jan’s back to wheedle him back into his hybrid and onto his next appointment. Even amidst the nagging and the rush, Borgia takes the time to talk to every person camped out on the sidewalk. One girl is crying hysterically, and he rushes over to comfort her. Jan fumes, but he steadfastly listens to her entire story and hugs her at the end._

_“She was kicked out of her home a few months ago after coming out to her Christian parents,” he explains on the way to a taping of_ Conan. _“She had been living on the streets, in and out of shelters. Her mother saw me on Anderson Cooper last week and apparently I said something right because her mom tracked her down a few days ago and apologized. She’s back at home and they’re going to family counselling now.”_

_He smiles and returns to checking his Instagram, diligently curating the digital clues that attract so many young followers. Some find it ironic that he preaches about simplicity and yet embraces so many modern conveniences, but it essentially sums up who Cesare Borgia is and why he is so successful. He urges people to embrace the truth of Jesus in a world where lies are fed to us on a minute by minute basis. He preaches transparency to a world obsessed with individual privacy. He teaches two thousand year old ideals and has the body of a 21 st Century Burberry model. Cesare Borgia is an enigma, and he just might be what modern Christianity needs to stay afloat in a rapidly changing world._

***

“GIOFFRE! Hurry up, we’re going to be late!”

Vanozza rolls her eyes in the direction of the staircase and quickly checks the contents of her purse for her keys. Her search is interrupted by an almost painful shuffling noise from the hall, heralding the arrival of her pyjama-clad, good for nothing husband.

“I can’t believe I’m forced to hear the gender of my own grandchild second-hand,” Rodrigo drawls, brandishing a tumbler of alcohol. “What has the world come to?”

She sighs heavily. “It’s simple enough to me. Lucrezia wants Cesare there. Cesare does not want you there. Ergo, you are not coming. Unless, of course, you can come up with a way to repair your relationship with your son in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Enough with the sarcasm, Vanozza, it’s not very attractive.”

_Oh for..._

She rounds on him, eyes blazing, and he almost trips in an attempt to shuffle away from her. “Do you _really_ think that I care? ‘ _It’s not very attractive_.’ Do you know what else isn’t attractive? A grown man moping around his house drinking whisky and wearing bunny slippers!”

Rodrigo snorts into his drink. He’s about to take a swig when an uncontrollable peal of giggles bubbles out of his mouth. Vanozza stares in shock as he starts howling with laughter, the noise echoing down the empty hallways of the house and his wrinkly body shaking with effort.

She sighs again, conversation forgotten, and turns to fetch Gioffre from his room. With surprising agility, Rodrigo grabs her arm and pulls her to him, pinning her body against the wall. Scowling menacingly, he tosses his drink to the side, where it lands with a sharp crash.

“Do you think I even care if you’re attracted to me?” he spits. His breath smells like alcohol and dirty socks and Vanozza flinches from the proximity. “You’re no use to me anymore all dried up and used. Can you give me another son? Can you? CAN YOU?”

“Father?”

Gioffre cautiously tiptoes down the staircase, eyes wide. Vanozza’s head drops in shame. Chastened, Rodrigo pushes himself away from the wall and takes a few swaying steps back to his office.    

“Have fun at the clinic, you two,” he slurs to the two of them, back turned and feet wobbly. “Try to get a picture of the baby for me, will you? Say hi to Lucrezia...and the other one.”

Vanozza is silent for most of the drive, as is Gioffre. The moderate traffic is a welcome distraction from the simultaneous chaos and boredom at home. With the Association under investigation, Rodrigo spends most of his time at the house, holed up in his office with the old photo albums and a bottle of whisky, only emerging to eat and terrorize his remaining family members.

For Vanozza

_As for Gioffre..._

They’re a couple of blocks away from the clinic when the youngest Borgia blurts out, “I’m his son too!”

Vanozza’s hands clench on the steering wheel as she takes a deep breath, willing her heart not to break. “I know, sweetheart,” she says evenly. “And Father knows that too, he’s just having a really hard time right now.”

“But why doesn’t he ever talk to me? Sometimes I go to his office, but he never answers the door.”

Her heart clenches.  “He’s in mourning, love, for the sons he’s lost. He just keeps remembering them and it makes him so sad.”

Gioffre stares at his lap, his young face twisted in thought. “So he likes them more than he likes me? Am I not good enough?”

“No, love, that’s not true at all. It’s because...because...” She holds back a sob. “It’s because you’re so much like them, sweetheart, and it hurts him. You’re so much like your brothers were at your age. Your looks, your laugh.” She smiles to herself. “The way your hair is flattened against your head when you wake up. When he looks at you, he gets sad because it reminds him of all the mistakes we’ve made with Juan and Cesare.”

Gioffre sits silent for a few moments, his brow furrowed from concentration and partial anger. “But isn’t he just making the same mistakes with me then?”

“Not the same, darling. Mistakes, yes, but these ones are different.”

“But I...” He grumbles and balls his hands into fists. “I just want things to be back to the way they were!”

Vanozza guides the car into a parking space right outside the doors of the clinic. Tossing her keys into her purse, she sighs deeply and locks eyes with her youngest son. “I’m afraid they can’t, my love. Not anymore.”

Not satisfied with her answer, Gioffre mumbles to himself for the entire duration of their walk to Lucrezia’s room. Vanozza ignores him for the most part; after all, if almost thirty years of marriage has taught her anything, it’s that there’s really nothing she can do to control Rodrigo’s behaviour. Influence? Maybe, but his reactions are his alone.

Lucrezia is already prepared for her ultrasound when they arrive. Her normally stylish clothing is replaced by a powder blue standard issue hospital gown and she’s reclined on the uncomfortable examination bench with her feet up in stirrups. She’s obviously nervous, if her fidgeting fingers are any indication, but her nerves are nothing compared to Cesare’s.

“Gosh, son, if you tap your foot any harder, it’ll go straight through the floor!”

Cesare jumps at his mother’s observation, his hand gripping his sister’s shoulder protectively. “Jesu- geez, Mama, don’t sneak up on me like that.” He shakes his head and turns to Gioffre. “How’s it going, little brother?”

Suddenly shy, Gioffre unconsciously inches behind his mother’s back. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Cesare wrinkles his nose. “What’s up, Gioff?” He reaches over to ruffle his younger brother’s hair and Gioffre shrinks into Vanozza, avoiding the touch.

Sensing the awkwardness, Vanozza interjects, “Don’t mind him...he’s just tired. But how about you? We haven’t seen you since the funeral; you’ve been so busy!”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve had a bunch of meetings with Thomas Allen and I guess time has just flown by. Plus, with all of the stuff with Lucrezia...” His voice trails off and he stares up at the ceiling as if suddenly transfixed by its popcorn texture.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“It’s not about you, you know.” Lucrezia breaks her nervous silence. “Honestly. If I had the choice...”

“I know.”

Lucrezia’s pending emancipation is a _very_ sore subject for their family; one that constantly competes with Juan’s death as the predominant source of trauma in Vanozza’s life. After Rodrigo’s outing of his daughter’s pregnancy, the emancipation was inevitable, of course, but still unbearably painful and unnatural for her parents. Rodrigo adds it to his pile of other disappointments and prescribes himself additional whisky and sullenness as medication, but for Vanozza the pain is exponential.

 _I could stop it_ she reminds herself. _I could be there for her... be the mother she deserves._

_But I can’t leave him._

Her thoughts are interrupted by a perky “Hello!” uttered by a bubbly brunette woman in scrubs. “Hi family! Hi mommy!” She gives a little wave to Lucrezia. “I’m Jemma, and I’ll be your ultrasound technician today!”

“Hi Jemma,” Cesare deadpans as if he’s at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. He catches Lucrezia’s eye and smirks, earning him a shy smile in response.

 Jemma flips through the clipboard in her hands. “So Lucrezia, I see that this is your first ultrasound for this pregnancy?”

Lucrezia flushes nervously. “Yeah, um, I’m in the process of getting emancipated right now, so my health insurance has been a bit wonky. I know it’s late.”

The technician gives Vanozza a nervous look, clearly confused as to why a parent is seemingly present for her estranged daughter’s appontment. “I see. Well, I’m happy you can join us today. Better late than never!” She laughs awkwardly.

Cesare flashes a dazzling smile, tempered by his intense, staring eyes. “We chose this clinic for its discretion, Jemma. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

She blushes. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream...of course, everyone is entitled to the tightest security when it comes to personal medical information, but I can assure you, Mr. Borgia, your sister will be offered extra precautions.”

Jemma busies herself with prepping her machine while Vanozza quietly surveys the situation. Lucrezia is flustered, her fingers playing with the hem of her gown until Cesare suddenly clasps them tight with his own. The gesture is quick, almost instinctual, and there’s something about it that makes Vanozza’s stomach clench.

_But why? They’ve always been close. It makes sense that he would be more protective of her since everything that has happened with Rodrigo._

And that’s when she remembers. The intense stares, the gestures, the fluid touches...

_Oh my Lord._

***

_“Hurry up, my love. We’re almost there!”_

_Twenty year old Vanozza, seven months pregnant in the blazing heat of a California summer, toddles dutifully along behind her husband. Rodrigo grins and holds out his hand, which she grasps with a breathless grunt._

_“I promise it will be worth it, my love,” he croons. “I promise I’m about to make all of your dreams come true.”_

_He leads her up a flight of precociously crooked stone steps, allowing her to brace her substantial weight on his arm until they finally reach the crown jewel of the shops. She turns red and starts stuttering as soon as she sees the sign. “DeBeers. Oh no, Rodrigo, we can’t! I couldn’t...”_

_“Hush.” Squeezing her hand, he guides her into the plush jewelry store, winking at the owner as they enter. “John, we’re here for it. The thing, I mean, that we talked about earlier.”_

_The owner, a portly fellow in a velvet vest, nods his head and pulls a plush box of rings from the glass display counter. Rodrigo grabs a stool from the corner of the store and eases Vanozza onto it, grinning all the while._

_“Here it is, a beautiful 2 carat princess cut diamond... excellent color, clarity...in a beautiful 18 karat gold filigree band. May I?” John slides the delicate ring onto Vanozza’s finger and gently guides her hand back and forth, coaxing magnificent sparkles from the gem._

_She gasps. “Oh my. It’s exquisite. But how can we...? I can’t...?”_

_Rodrigo squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that. I just got a call from the Reverend, and I guess I’ve been well received by the community. They want me to sign a multi book deal.”_

_“Oh, Rodrigo!” Vanozza leans over and kisses her husband on the cheek._

_The happy moment is interrupted by the jingle of the door chime announcing some other customers. Curious, Rodrigo glances over in their direction and his face sours._

_“Mr. and Mrs. Collins! What a lovely surprise!”_

_The middle aged husband and wife, both prominent members of Rodrigo’s congregation, shoot syrupy looks at their pastor and his young bride. “Isn’t it wonderful to run into you here, Pastor Borgia and... Miss dei Cattanei. Out shopping for baubles?”_

_Vanozza feels him bristle next to her. “Rodrigo, no,” she hisses, twisting her new ring nervously around her finger. “It’s not worth it.”_

_It’s too late. “Excuse me?” he snaps at his parishioners. “Don’t you mean ‘Mrs. Borgia? She is my wife, after all, and it’s strange to me that you refuse to acknowledge this fact.”_

_Face growing redder by the second, Mr. Collins puffs up like a pastry and responds, “Well, that’s funny because it’s strange to all of us that you refuse to acknowledge the facts about your so-called wife.”_

_“And what facts are those?”_

_The Collinses chuckle to themselves. “I don’t really think it’s polite to say... in public.” He shrugs in the direction of John the proprietor, who quickly busies himself with polishing his counter._

_Rodrigo’s fingers dig into Vanozza’s shoulders. Not painfully, of course, but protectively, just to remind her that he’s there. His eyes flash dangerously. “ Please. Share it with us, these facts about my wife. Enlighten me.”_

_The two men stare at each other, Collins sweating under the intensity of Rodrigo’s glare. Finally, he chokes out, “Your wife is-is... is a whore.”_

_Vanozza closes her eyes and sighs._

_Rodrigo grins, his teeth flashing menacingly. “Really? I had no idea.”_

_He turns to her and his expression melts into one of absolute adoration. “My love, this man has just informed me of your former profession,” he mock whispers. “However, I must confess that my love for you is not conditional, not fickle, and not fleeting. You are the love of my life, and I swear to you that no rain, no snow, and certainly no under aged redheaded basketball players will be able to pull me from your side.”_

_Mrs. Collins gasps. “Marvin! What does he mean?”_

_Marvin Collins, volunteer high school basketball coach, turns to his wife and splutters, “Nothing! I told you it was nothing!”_

_Shop keeper John snickers as he rubs his counter. Vanozza turns to her husband and basks in the intensity of his gaze, her heart thumping at the pure love pouring from his eyes._

_***_

“Gosh, that’s a weird feeling!”

Vanozza shakes her head and focuses on Lucrezia’s jittery exclamations. Her daughter has loosened up a bit thanks to Cesare’s impromptu shoulder massage and now, as Jemma the technician squirts blue gel on her belly, she seems almost excited.

Cesare, on the other hand, is almost shaking with nerves. He squeezes his sister’s shoulders in a rhythmic pattern that mirrors his tapping from before, and his jaw is clenched so hard that one of the muscles is protruding. He clears his throat and asks, “So, when will you be able to tell if there are any birth defects?”

It’s an odd, though perfectly valid, statement, and Jemma brushes it off with experienced ease. “At this stage we’re only able to test for chromosomal disorders like Down syndrome, but at the five month stage we’ll be able to screen for any physical abnormalities. But don’t worry, I’m sure your baby will be fine.” She gasps, her hand stilling on the ultrasound wand. “Your _sister’s..._ sorry, I meant that your sister’s baby will be fine.”

Gioffre laughs at the slip up, unaware of the thick cloud of tension in the room. Vanozza stomach lurches again, her mind racing with all these little mistakes, little observations that seem inconsequential alone but when compounded...

_He’s just protective. Overprotective. Big brother. Your baby. Birth defects. Emancipation. Juan. Rodrigo. Gio Sforza. Pregnancy. Birth defects. Lucrezia. Cesare._

All of the pieces click suddenly click together in her head like a giant jigsaw puzzle.

_Cesare. Lucrezia. Cesare and Lucrezia._

“Would you like to see your grandchild, Mrs. Borgia?”

Vanozza feels like she’s about to vomit and pass out at the same time, but she schools her features into a perfect excited grin at the prospect. “Oh! May I?”

Jemma smiles and shuffles over so that Vanozza can look at the tiny bean-like fetus projected onto the screen. It looks like a blob, honestly, just a big golden blob with approximate human appendages, but more importantly it looks _normal,_ just like every other human-esque golden blob fetus that is viewed in the clinic _._

Cesare squints at the screen. “That’s...that’s what it’s supposed to look like, right?”

Jemma laughs. “Yes, yes it is.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Would you like to know what you’ll be having?”

All eyes in the room turn to Lucrezia, who has been relatively quiet through the whole thing. She smiles, her own eyes locked with Cesare’s, and shrugs. “Sure.”

“Well, of course things aren’t a hundred percent sure, but I’ve seen hundreds of ultrasounds so I can pretty confidently say...” She smiles. “It’s a boy!”

Gioffre lets out a whoop. “Yay! I’m an uncle!”

Snorting, Cesare claps him on the shoulder. “Nice try, but you’d be an uncle either way.” He turns to Lucrezia and his face softens. “You excited?”

There’s a beat where everyone waits expectantly for the new mother’s opinions. She’s still staring at the monitor as if the image would disappear if she dared to look away. Finally, Lucrezia nods her head, grinning back at her brother and replies, “A boy. Was there ever any doubt?”

The look they share is so passionate, so _intimate_ that Vanozza’s heart shudders.

_Was there ever any doubt?_

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

_So there he is. Our little boy._

Lucrezia strokes the screen of the ultrasound machine with a trembling finger.

“Wow.” Cesare’s voice is low and gravelly. “He’s so little.”

“Oh, he’ll get a lot bigger really quickly,” chirps the ultrasound technician. “You’ll have a big collection of progress pictures by the time all of this is over.”

Swallowing back a sob, Lucrezia looks over at her mother. Vanozza has a strange look on her face, like she’s swallowed something sour. “Mama? Are you okay?”

Vanozza coughs and glances at her phone. “Oh of course, my dear. I just realized that I have to get Geoffre to his piano lessons right away. I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer- congratulations, love.”

Without even a nod at Cesare, she pushes her youngest out the door. Cesare’s eyes narrow.

“That was weird. I didn’t even know he took piano lessons.”

“Must be something new.”

Their observations are interrupted from a loud growl issued by Lucrezia’s stomach. Jemma the technician jumps slightly, the wand jittering in her hand.

“Oh gosh!” Lucrezia chuckles. “I must be super hungry. Brother, would you mind...?”

“On it.”

Jemma laughs nervously. “Brother to the rescue! Oh my... well, we’re just about done here. Would you like me to get you some printouts of your baby? Might be nice family gifts?”

“Of course! Yeah, that would be great!”

Cesare opens the door for Jemma, who quickly bustles down the hall. He turns to his sister.

“Lucrezia...I-“

She shakes her head. “I know, this is a big moment. But seriously, I’m so hungry right now!”

“Heh.” Bending over, he plants a lingering kiss on her forehead before leaving to find food.

She sighs and leans her head back against the headrest of the examination bed. “Alone at last,” she murmurs to herself.

Her solitude is promptly interrupted by a muffled shuffling sound outside of the room. There’s a quiet tap on the door followed by a familiar ginger head poking in.

“May I come in, Miss Borgia?”

“Micheletto!” She slides up the bed and straightens her gown in an attept to make herself presentable. “Oh, Cesare isn’t here right now. He went out to get a snack, but I’m sure he’ll be back...”

Micheletto raises a finger to his lips. “It’s okay. I actually need to talk to you.”

“Sure. We don’t really talk much except for that time I roofied you.” She laughs nervously.

He’s about to open his mouth and blurt out all of his questions at once, but there’s something about the young Borgia that tempers his impulses. Even dishevelled and wearing a hospital gown, she’s still so...regal? Noble? Something about her just incites good behaviour in those around her, so instead of interrogating, Micheletto awkwardly inquires, “So... how are things?”

Lucrezia shrugs, a little smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Things are pretty good. Everyone is begging for Cesare’s time. I think he has, like, a _huge_ book deal plus a bunch of personal appearances. It’s nice because it means we don’t have to worry about money, even with Cesare and Father not speaking to each other. I mean, it’s weird being kind of independent, but it’s a nice feeling, you know?”

“Of course.”

“I guess there is a bit of stress with family stuff. The last time everyone was together was at the funeral, and that was so unbearably awkward... I couldn’t stand it. Plus with all of those distant relatives and press asking about my pregnancy...” She makes a half hearted confused gesture with her hands, then lets them fall listlessly into her lap. “It wasn’t fun. Oh, and Juan was dead too,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Yes, well, sorry about that,” Micheletto deadpans.

She gives him a little smirk. “I’m sure you are. Anyways... sorry for just kind of dumping everything on you. I guess you can tell that I haven’t been talking to a lot of people lately. My friends don’t really want to hang out with me anymore. It’s like they think that pregnancy is contagious.”

“Probably one of the by-products of an abstinence only sex education system.”

Chuckling quietly, Lucrezia reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. Micheletto stiffens, and she draws her hand back as if burned.

“I...s-sorry...”

“No, it’s fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Like I said...not used to being with people. Well.” She chews on her lip. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” he says. His voice suddenly goes low and gravelly. “I had heard that you were coming in for your ultrasound, and I was just wondering what you’re going to have.”

“A boy! We-I’m having a boy.” She rubs her belly enthusiastically. “A boy,” she finishes softly, more to herself than anything.

Micheletto nods. “Well, congratulations.” Holding out his hand, he awkwardly pats her on the shoulder. “I’m...happy for you. For both of you.”

She turns to look at him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with shock, but he’s already halfway out the door.

“Wait! Stay just a minute; I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

His face falls. “No, I can’t, I’m sorry.” Pausing, he tilts his head to the side as if contemplating a great mystery. “I am, truly. Sorry, I mean. About everything with you and your eldest brother, and anything I did or didn’t do that may have contributed to your rape.”

Lucrezia flinches at the word, but holds his gaze steadily. “Thank you. But please stay. He misses you so much...I can see it. He’s sadder now than he used to be.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re giving him something to look forward to.” With one last nod, Micheletto ghosts out the door as quietly as he entered it, leaving her confused with a twisty, sad feeling in her stomach.

Not even a minute later, Cesare bursts through the door carrying a myriad of snack foods. “So I found you a sandwich and some of those veggie straws you like, plus some sweet tea with lemon and digestives just in case you start feeling a bit sick.”

She’s still staring at the door. “Micheletto came by.”

His face falls. Dropping all the food on her lap, he slumps against the doorframe. “Micheletto... but why? What did he want?” His face darkens. “Did he apologize for that clusterfuck with Juan?” He laughs harshly, more of a bark than usual.

“Actually, he did. He’d heard that I had an appointment, and he was curious about the sex of the baby. I actually think he...”

She pauses, suddenly wary about Cesare’s mental state.

 _If he knew that Micheletto knows about... us, at least I_ think _he knows about us... what would he do?_

Even though they’re still close, closer than _ever_ as a matter of fact, Lucrezia feels an urge to hide this little nugget of truth from her brother. After all, every relationship is a two way street (at least that’s what Mama and her Sunday School teachers always told her) and, even though Cesare is her big brother, she still feels an urge to protect him just as much as he protects her. And, lately at least, killing has gotten a bit too easy for him.

_Everyone gets caught eventually._

“He...he what? What do you think?”

She shakes her head. “I just think he misses you but he doesn’t know how to make things better. Neither of you know. You guys are both being such boys about it... like why don’t you just call him and ask him out for coffee or something?”

Cesare groans. Reaching over to the bed, he rips open a pack of cookies and stuffs one into his mouth. “Because, sis, he kept something from me. Something important that could have kept you from getting hurt and now I can never go back to trusting him. Our friendship, if that even was what it was, is over forever.” He wipes the crumbs from his stubble and tosses the wrapper into the garbage.

“I don’t know if it has to be forever. You can still forgive him, I _know_ you can. And I know you think that this is really childish and stupid of me, but I do still think that things happen for a reason. If I had to be...” she chokes out the word, “ _raped_ so that we could ultimately be together and have this family...well, I think that’s still pretty much worth it.”

Eyes darkening, Cesare backs away from her until his spine brushes the doorframe. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t you _fucking_ suggest that.”

“So, if you could, you would go back and change everything? Keep everything from happening?”

Cesare knows that look, the one quirked eyebrow and slightly pursed lips on his sister’s face that indicate that _this is a test,_ but he’s so worked up and jittery that he can’t stop the words, the _honest to God (who may not exist)_ truth.

“Yeah I would. I fucking _would_ go back and change every damn thing. The fight with Juan, my blow up at the conference, Gio Sforza, even the night you came to me in my room...I would go back and change everything if it meant keeping you from this mess.” He gestures over his body in a way that’s meant to be comedic but instead just infuriates Lucrezia.

 “How many times do we have to go over this?” She tilts her head and gives his forlorn face an exaggerated eye roll. “I guess one more time. I’m not an angel, virgin, prude, unicorn magical fairy goddamn _angel._ Not now and not ever. I am your _sister_ and we are two sides of the same coin! You haven’t wrecked me or messed me up, and you need to stop thinking that I would be better off if none of this had ever happened.” Standing up, she smoothes down her hospital gown and stares him in the eye. “I would go through all of it again. _All of it._ ”

Rising up on her tip toes, she crushes her lips against his in a perfect mix of anger and pent up passion. He groans against her and slides his hand around her neck, cradling her close while gently winding his fingers in her hair. She struggles against the tender gesture, pushing against him until his back is flat against the door, the handle rubbing into his spine.

“Would you still take it all back?” she mumbles as he gasps for breath. “Go back to a life at seminary, reading boring textbooks and banging random girls you pick up at Starbucks?”

“Hey, I go out sometimes...” he chuckles gruffly. “I club.”

“Heh. Right.” She rolls her hips against his, watching as his eyelids flutter in ecstasy. “My brother at a club. You need to show me your moves some time.”

He grimaces, fingers still entwined in the tiny baby hairs at the nape of her neck. “I’d rather not.”

“Right. Can’t risk the thought of having an empty bed forever.” Her voice lowers to a purr “... _can you?”_

He’s about to make a snappy comeback when she raises a finger to his lips. “Don’t even lie. You could never go back. _Would_ never go back.” Hoisting herself up on her toes again, she shuts him up with a deep kiss.

 _She’s right, you know._ That dark, slimy voice, absent recently, makes its slithering comeback through Cesare’s mind. _You would sacrifice anything to keep this. Anything. No bullshit guilt covers the fact that this is the life you’ve dreamed of, have always dreamed of...late at night, when you were alone in your bedroom._

The scary part is, that sick squeezing feeling in his stomach that just won’t seem to go away; the one he attributed to his good side chastising him with guilt... it’s only anxiety, pure and simple. And not anxiety about the wrongness of everything, or the bliss he feels when his sister’s tongue slides against his own, or even the murders he committed.

_It’s just the stress...of waiting for the other shoe to drop._

Suddenly, there’s a sharp pain in his back, sure to leave a bruise.

“Augh!” Instinctively, he pushes Lucrezia away as soon as he recognizes the sensation of the door handle twisting into his back. Heart pounding, she scrambles back onto the examination bed just as Jemma bursts into the room, slamming Cesare in the face with the heavy wooden door.

“ _Jes-jeez!”_ He cradles his forehead with his right hand, letting his left dangle casually in front of him to hide his erection. Eyes wide, Jemma drops the ultrasound prints on the bed and rushes over.

“Oh gosh! I am so, so sorry Mr. Borgia! May I...?”

He lightly bats her frantic hands away. “Ahhh, no worries. I’ll be fine. Just a little bump.”

His heart’s still pounding, more from the shock and surprise than the actual pain from the door. He sneaks a glance through his fingers at Lucrezia, and his stomach clenches when he sees her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, still pink with arousal and anger.

Jemma sighs to herself. “Well, that’ll be the last time I go through any doors without announcing myself.” Lucrezia blushes even deeper, but the technician doesn’t notice. Instead, she picks up the pictures, and flips to a specific one. “I printed out a couple, but I think this one is the best. You can just start to make out his features, like there’s his mouth and eyes.” She points them out to a dewy eyed Lucrezia. “I think he’ll be a handsome fellow.”

“I think so too.” Biting her lip, Lucrezia traces the outline of her son’s head, comparing it to the man standing in front of her. Technically, there’s still no definite way of knowing whether Cesare is her boy’s father, but if motherly instinct has any say, she’s sure he is.

_And he knows it too. He just needs to admit it to himself._

Smiling, Lucrezia looks up at Jemma. “These are perfect. Thank you so much.”

The other woman nods and, with one final apologetic glance at Cesare, quietly bows out of the room.

“See, look at him.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but Cesare can feel his sister’s words pounding in his head, in his heart. “He’s worth it. He’s perfect.”

With a shaking hand, he grabs one of the prints and studies it closely. It looks no different than it did on the ultrasound screen, all grey and blurry, but the concrete nature of the picture shakes him to his core.

_I could frame this. Put it in my wallet. Photoshop a cheesy frame around it and send it to all of my friends. Do all of those lame Dad things that I always mocked._

Mirroring his sister, he traces the delicate curve of the fetus’s head. His hand won’t stop shaking.

_This is real._

  

 

 

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahahahahAHAHAHAHA!!! I have returned!!! I am doubly sorry for both the lateness and the shortness of this chapter! My life is... well, you know life. It happens.


	27. Chapter 27

Some say time can be measured through memories and moments. Other more practical people insist that minutes and hours are the only accurate representations of the passage of time.

For Cesare, the passing weeks and days are calculated using only two standards:   
a) Media Coverage   
and  
b) Lucrezia’s ever expanding belly.

He’s loath to call it a ‘baby bump,’ even though it seems as though every news outlet has christened it as such. Even at four months, it’s barely noticeable, fitting under Lucrezia’s wardrobe of loose, loopy sweaters and oversized blazers. Vanozza assures him that one day it will just ‘pop’ and then there will be belly everywhere, but for now her pregnancy has caused a surprising lack of inconvenience in the wardrobe department.

The first few months had been absolute hell for his carpet and his plumbing. The so called ‘morning sickness,’ most likely named by a _man,_ reduced his glowing sister to a retching, crying puddle on his bathroom floor for about two weeks until he dragged her to a clinic and procured a bottle of supplements that seemed to fix everything. Sure, she initially choked them down amidst Vanozza’s frenzied warnings about ‘mutations’ and babies with three arms, but ultrasounds revealed that the little bean was developing perfectly, with the normal amount of limbs and everything.

 Not that his allegedly unique parentage gave him much help in that respect, but Cesare squishes those thoughts to a dark corner of his mind.

*

**BORGIA BABYWATCH UPDATE: 5 _Months Pregnant Lucrezia Spotted With Blue Onesies for Baby Boy? Details Inside!_**

“So I guess it’s official now.” Lucrezia ambles into the living room with a mug of herbal tea and a copy of _Life and Style_ magazine. “My life is officially a guerrilla reality series. I’m like Kim Kardashian, but with less ass.”

“You’ll catch up soon enough,” Cesare replies through a mouthful of Frosted Flakes.  She wrinkles her nose at his table manners, but says nothing.

He notices her disgust and, as usual, shrugs it off.

Sure, it’s been a tense couple of month, but almost every relationship transition has its bumps and bruises. Cesare’s never really _lived_ with anyone before, at least not in the romantic sense, and it’s made even more complicated by the fact that he has lived with Lucrezia before, just in a different context. There are obvious perks to their current arrangement, things that he definitely appreciated, but some days he wishes he could simply banish her to her own bedroom when he needs his alone time.

Like he used to when she was 10.

For Lucrezia, it’s exactly the same. When Cesare was her brother ( _though he is still her brother_ ), his disgusting habits like flossing in the living room and chewing with his mouth open only served to make him more genuine and endearing. However, this strange awkward transition from sibling to...lover? Spouse? She still can’t really rest her mind on it, but now the little things that used to find cute just seem gross and annoying. 

Though she guesses the hormones are helping with that.

So, even though she merely wrinkled her nose and he just shrugged it off, Lucrezia decides that today is the day she’s going to take a stand.

“You can’t keep on doing that, you know.”

Cesare’s spoon pauses halfway to his mouth, sugary milk dripping precariously back into the bowl. He turns to her and raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Chewing. With your mouth open. It’s bad manners.”

He snorts. “Thank you, _Mother._ Please, do tell me if there’s anything else I’m doing wrong that bothers you...”

“Fine then.” She pulls out the chair next to him, sits in it, and starts listing items off on her fingers. “You floss your teeth in places other than the bathroom. You leave your dirty socks in the living room and never put them in the hamper. You sometimes shave your neck hair really weirdly. You chew with your mouth open, and when you pee standing up, sometimes it splashes out of the bowl. Yes, I know you try not to!” she cuts of his protest with a finger in his face. “But sometimes I don’t think you try hard enough. Come on, Cesare, just act like a man for once. Do you really want your son to be picking up all of your bad habits?”

He’s about to come up with a snappy comeback, but bites his tongue. The phrase ‘your son’ swirls around his head like water going down a drain, and it’s making him slightly dizzy. He’s still not quite used to it.

“Huh, yeah, I guess not.” His voice has suddenly gone all sandy. “I guess you’re right... it’ll be different because the baby’s a boy.”

“Yeah,” she replies. Her own voice has grown soft. Slowly, she clenches her extended fingers into a fist and lowers it back down to the table. “Listen, I’m not trying to be a bitch...”

“You’re not being a bitch,” he responds. It’s been his mantra for the last couple of months.

She smiles. “Thank you. I just think that, well, you guys didn’t really have the best role model growing up. I mean, Father was okay at first...when he was home. But really, as soon as you and Juan became teenagers, he was basically useless as a Dad. I just...I just know that you can do better, I really do, but I’m still a bit paranoid because I know there are some things that I won’t be able to teach him.”

Cesare shakes his head to cover up his nervousness, and quips, “Like how to pee standing up?”

She pinches his arm. Hard.

But he deserved it.

*

**BORGIA BABY BUMPWATCH: _Lucrezia Finishes Her Second Trimester in a BIG Way! Could This Mean Twins for the Teen Mom?_**

Lucrezia groans as she hobbles off of the bathroom scale. “Five more pounds. I can’t believe it.”

Rolling his eyes, Cesare tosses his copy of _People_ magazine down onto the couch and turns to look at his sister. “I don’t understand why you keep weighing yourself. There’s no point in getting all depressed right now when you have more important things to worry about.”

“Well, I’m _sorry_ that it’s not important to you,” she snaps. “But I didn’t really ask for your opinion.” Ambling into the living room, she plops down next to him on the couch, which heaves a bit under her weight.

He can’t suppress his giggle, which is a bad move.

She screams with frustration, grabs one of his Missoni cushions, and starts beating him over the head with it. His laughs continue momentarily until he realizes that her shrieks of presumed laughter have actually evolved into choked sobs.

She’s still smacking him with the pillow, but it’s pretty half hearted as the tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey...” Tenderly, he plucks the cushion from her hands and tosses it aside. Scooting over, he wraps her into his arms, clutching her tight as she continues to cry into his shoulder.

They stay like that for a few minutes. Cesare stares out of his picture window and periodically buries kisses in her hair until her frantic sobs slow to erratic sniffs. Eventually, she lifts her face out of his shirt and gazes at him mournfully.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She looks as though she’s about to break into a million pieces. Fortunately, he’s well versed in putting her back together.   

*

**BIG BORGIA BABY BUMPWATCH: _Our Favorite Teen Mom Stocks Up on Ten Must-Have Baby Buys!_**

“Do you really think all of this stuff is necessary?”

Cesare grits his teeth and pries at the plastic plug shoved into his electrical outlet, his laptop battery dying a slow death beside him. His masculine yet dexterous fingers, deemed ‘piano hands’ by an old music teacher, are still no match for the blunted chunks of plastic lying almost flush against the wall. At a time like this, long fingernails would really come in handy, but he’s always kept in the habit of keeping them short for... _other_ reasons.

_Not that is matters now. She hasn’t let me touch her in over a week._

Mother called it the ‘nesting’ phase; Cesare called it the ‘endlessly rearranging and buying tacky baby stuff’ phase that had transformed his condo from a cool yet comfortable home to a melange of teddy bears and plastic locking gadgets that seriously hindered his midnight snacking habits.

He groans and chews on a non-existent fingernail. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a butter knife, and is _so_ desperate that he almost considers shoving it around the socket, until he decides that he would rather not be remembered as a footnote in a Darwin Awards bathroom reader.

 “Seriously, though,” he calls to Lucrezia, who is rummaging away in the master bedroom, “Why do we even have to have these on right now? I mean, the baby isn’t even _born_ yet and, even when he is, I highly doubt he could reach an outlet almost...” He eyeballs the distance. “... _four feet_ off the ground.”

“It’s never too early to start getting used to them,” she yells back. “And we’ll need even more protection when he starts walking around.”

It’s been like this all week. First it was the overgrown zip ties on the cupboards, then the glorified pool noodles on the edges of the coffee table and the fireplace. However, the worst by far had to be the strange grippy cups on the door handles that he’d eventually pried off with a spoon whilst his bladder screamed in desperation.

 And it’s not just safety equipment. Gone are Cesare’s Odutola portraits (deemed ‘scarring nightmare fuel’ by his sister), their vacancies filled by generic Dali prints that are meant to stimulate the child’s mind. Similarly banished are his expensive cotton throws, along with the fully stocked bar cart, which has been painfully locked up in storage.

And now this.  Even his electricity is banned.

Cesare’s laptop gives a pathetic click of sadness before shutting itself off. He groans and mumbles under his breath.

“Aw, come on.”

*

**BIG BORGIA BABY BUMPWATCH: BROTHER EDITION _Big Bro Cesare Seen Fighting With Mommy-To-Be Lucrezia! Trouble for the Super Siblings?_**

There is a third, more subtle change that develops with Lucrezia’s pregnancy, closer to the end of the third trimester. Along with his sister’s fluctuating hormones, Cesare finds that his own moods are growing increasingly dark and erratic.

It’s most evident during ‘Family Day,’ Vanozza’s attempt at reconciliation between her elder son and his estranged Father. It’s a tense affair, with Cesare seated stiffly across the table from his thankfully sober Father. Lucrezia’s eyes dart between the two of them, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her belly as a reminder of why they’re suffering through this awkwardness in the first place. Gioffre and Vanozza attempt to make light conversation, but it’s stilted by the thinly veiled hostility between the two men.

Finally, Lucrezia breaks the silence by tapping her knife against her glass of water. “Hey...” she starts lightly. “I’ve made up my mind about the baby’s name.”

Rodrigo and Cesare both take a break from glaring at each other to stare at her in surprise.

“But I thought you weren’t sure yet...” Cesare starts, trying to communicate something more with his eyes. She meets his stare and gives a miniscule shake of her head.

_I thought_ we _weren’t sure yet._

“Let her speak, Cesare. It’s her decision, after all.” Rodrigo lays a gentle hand over his daughter’s.

Lucrezia tries not to shiver at her father’s clammy touch. “Thank you, Father. I’ve just decided recently...” She clears her throat. “...that I want to name him John.”

“John,” Vanozza echoes, tears welling in her eyes. “After your brother...that’s beautiful, Lucrezia. What an honor. Isn’t that a wonderful gesture, Cesare?”

He can’t breathe for a moment, before choking out a “ _yes?”_ that lacks any modicum of sincerity. His sister turns on him, eyebrows twitching with irritation, and he can practically read the thoughts she’s attempting to bore into his skull.

_Don’t screw this up for us. Just play nice, Cesare, like we talked about earlier._

He’s about to let it go when he catches the smug look of satisfaction on Rodrigo’s face.

“Sure, sure, name him after Juan,” he mutters. “Name it after a lying, lecherous creep who basically  pissed away half of the family’s money and orchestrated his own sister’s rape. Yeah, sounds good, what an honor.”

“ _Cesare!_ ”

He’s well rehearsed at ignoring his mother’s incredulity and his Father’s blustering “well, I _nevers.”_  Instead it’s Lucrezia’s pointed glare that chastises him, along with Gioffre’s clueless, mouth opened gape.

“What?” he shrugs. “I’m just being honest.”

“You’re brand of honesty, _Cesare,_ is not welcome at this dinner table.” Vanozza turns to her husband, but it’s too late. With a half hearted shrug, Rodrigo retreats to her drink, downing the flute of champagne almost instantly. Noticing the empty bottle, and his tumbler of ice water, he abruptly stands up and stalks back to his study without another word.

“What do you mean by her rape?” Gioffre asks, only to be hushed by his sister.

Cesare bites his lip, cursing the sick churning feeling that coils in his belly whenever he even _thinks_ about his dead brother. “I apologize for that comment, Mother,” he says. “But I still maintain it’s the truth.”

“I accept your apology,” she replies almost mechanically, “But I think you should leave. For now. And...” She sighs heavily. “...I’m not sure you should come back here for a while.”

Lucrezia groans. “But Mama, we wanted to try...”

“I know, my dear, but this constant back and forth isn’t doing anyone any favors, and the stress can’t be good for the baby.”

Cesare is already heading towards the door, Lucrezia’s bag in hand. Shrugging, he gives Gioffre a small apology. “Sorry, bud. We’ll hang out some other time, I promise.”

The youngest Borgia squints. “But you said that last time.”

“God, don’t I know. Listen, how about I have you over at my place for a guy’s night some time? Video games and pizza sound good?”

Gioffre shrugs, a lifetime of disappointment clouding any excitement he may have shown. “Sure.”

“I’ll text you, okay?” Cesare grabs Lucrezia’s hand and, after a quick peck on Vanozza’s wrinkled brow, pulls her out the door.

They’re barely in the car when Lucrezia shrieks and punches him in the arm. “You! Giant! _ASSHOLE!”_

The last word is screamed so loud, it echoes across the lawn of the Borgia property, almost drowning out the camera clicks from paparazzi hidden in the bushes.

He allows her a couple of good hits because she’s pregnant and he sort of deserves it. Finally, he catches her right hand mid-swing and gently but forcefully lowers it to her side.

“Lucrezia,” he breathes. “You can’t be serious about naming the baby John.”

“I AM serious,” she spits back, still shaking with frustration.

Cesare closes his eyes and attempts to will away the venom that’s threatening to froth out of his mouth.

Fortunately, she beats him to it. “Look,” she says pointedly, “Stop thinking that you know some dark secret about him. I know everything. You have told me everything... and I still want to do it. It’s like...a memorial for him, for our brother we used to know before he got all messed up with the drinking and cocaine and parties and political shit.”

It’s amazing how soft and angelic she looks while still making his stomach clench with her stare. She’s all rainbows and blonde curls and cherubic sunshine on the outside, but Cesare knows that underneath that innocence there’s a makeup back full of syringes and illegally obtained pharmaceuticals just waiting to make an appearence.

He’s quiet for a while before responding. “Fine. But only because I love you.”

_Not because I’m scared of you. Not really._

They’re halfway home before he adds, “There was gonorrhoea too. He had gonorrhoea.”

The look on her face is the only vengeance he needs for the night. He laughs.

“And here you though you ‘knew everything.’”    

 *

**BORGIA BABY BUMPWATCH: _Final Few Days, is Teen Mom Lucrezia Ready? Our OB/GYN Shares Her Opinions!_**

“I guess it’s finally happened,” Lucrezia groans with resignation from the inside of the changing room. Her voice is slightly muffled from the door of the stall, but both Cesare and Vanozza can clearly hear her exasperation from their seats in the ‘waiting area’ of the maternity store.

The latch clicks open, and the very heavily-pregnant Lucrezia plods out. “I finally have to wear the circus tents. I’m too big for normal human clothing.”

The term ‘muumuu’ is almost too generous for the garment swallowing her body. The fabric is both starched and droopy at the same time (if such a material is even possible), and the color is the unbearable mustard shade of Eighties-era Tupperware lids. Cesare makes his displeasure clearly known with a grimace so twisted that it almost rouses her from her depressed state. Vanozza, experienced in the woes of pregnancy, opts for a more diplomatic reaction.

“Well, it definitely is colourful. And you’ve always looked so good in yellow, my dear.”

Cesare’s nostrils flare, evidence of the barely repressed laughter trapped in his straining cheeks. Lucrezia stares at him, a bored expression on her face. “You can laugh,” she drones. “It’s okay. I won’t kill you.”

He shakes his head and swallows his chuckle. “No, no, that would be rude,” he replies evenly. The corners of his mouth twitch in protest, but he manages to stay composed.

They leave with three of the stiff monstrosities, each in its own horrifying shade of retro cookware lid hue. As soon as they arrive back at home, Lucrezia disappears into the bedroom to presumably bury the clothing in the back of their walk-in closet until it is absolutely needed. 

Cesare starts on supper, and soon the sizzling sound of frying onions drowns out the muttering and rustling coming from the master bedroom. Deeply engrossed with chopping tomatoes, he doesn’t notice his sister’s presence until she clears her throat.

“Ahem...hey. I think I found something else to wear.”

He glances up, and is so startled that he almost chops his own finger off.

She’s wearing a shirt, _his shirt,_ a beautiful charcoal gray Tom Ford button up that’s straining slightly against the width of her belly and breasts. Mouth dry, he absentmindedly switches off the stove and stalks across the living room towards her, his eyes never leaving hers.

“So...are we-we back on now, right?” he stutters awkwardly, referring to his three month spell of celibacy due to her fluctuating hormones. “Does this mean...?”

Cheeks flushing, she gives him only a coy smile as she guides his fingers under the hem of his shirt. He feels only warm, slightly rippled skin, and closes his eyes with satisfaction.

“You tell me,” she breathes.

Dinner forgotten, he gently wrestles her into the bedroom, tickling her sides like he used to when they were children. He guides her onto the bed, unbuttoning the shirt as he goes.

She laughs at his delicacy, so in return he yanks at the remaining buttons, sending them flying across the room.

“God, Cesare, this shirt was like four hundred bucks,” she says as she gingerly pulls the sleeves off. “As new parents, we need to learn how to budget.”

He barely hears her as he runs his trembling hands over her swollen belly. The taut pressure under the skin is so foreign and strange and he honestly can’t get enough of it. Even her smell is different, more sweet and less musky, like a wild rose still wet with dew.

_God, Cesare, get a grip. It’s like you’ve never seen a naked girl before._

Sure, he’s _seen_ her naked for the past few months, but seeing and feeling are two totally different experiences. She’s like a new woman now, except still the same old Lucrezia, and it’s a bizarre concept that makes his head swim with confusion and lust.

“So I read in a pregnancy book that we need to it doggie-style,” she states matter-of-factly as she props up some pillows for leverage. “So that the belly doesn’t get in the way.”

He cringes. “Do we have to?”

“What? Why?”

_Because I have to see you. I have to know it’s you. Because I’ve spent years of my life taking girls from behind and imagining you in their place, and now that I have you I have to constantly remind myself that this is real._

Shrugging, he leaning over and places a light ghost of a kiss on her lips. “I just want to see your face as you cum, that’s all.”

She laughs. “My brother, the romantic.”

Tracing his fingers across her navel, he raises an eyebrow at the web of slightly indented stretch marks. “Are these permanent?” he breathes mostly to himself.

She freezes and is about to pull away, but stops when he gives her a warm smile.

“I like them.”

Pulling herself up on the pintucked duvet, she stares at him sceptically. “Really.”

He bites his lip sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, they’re like tattoos. I guess I’ve always thought you would look really hot with tattoos.”

“I see. So seeing me like this, _pregnant_ with your child... it’s really just helping your bad girl fetish?”

His stomach flips at her observation. The dichotomy of Madonna and whore, of bad girl and virgin... here she is lying in front of him, spiderwebs of scar tissue climbing up her young, smooth skin and he feels suddenly both like a dirty old man and a young college student.

And he’s never been more turned on in his life.

*****

**BIG BOUNCING BORGIA BABY BUMPWATCH: _Are We There Yet? Still-Pregnant Lucrezia Struggles Under the Weight of Her Tardy Offspring!_**

He’s asleep when it happens because, really, aren’t people always asleep when it happens? Finally lost in dreamland after a couple of fitful hours of Lucrezia kicking him in her sleep, Cesare is rudely awoken by a harsh slap to the face.

“AUGH! _Jesus Christ,_ Lucrezia, what the...?”

The words die in his throat when his vision swims into focus. Lucrezia clutches her right hand in her left, still reeling from the blow she gave him, but her white face and trembling lips indicate something more important is happening. His eyes drop to the floor and, sure enough, there’s a quickly darkening patch of amniotic fluid right next to the bed.

_The carpet. Why is it always on my carpet?_

“I-I I’m sorry I hit you, you just wouldn’t wake up and I panicked,” she stammers, still cradling her offending hand. “I just couldn’t sleep, so I went to make a mug of tea but then I felt really sick so I laid down in bed but, I don’t know, I was restless so I stood up and... there it is! And I know you’ve been really tired, but I think it’s happening now...”

“It’s...what?” His fuzzy brain finally clicks into place and he springs out of bed in shock, his wavy hair pressed flat against the side of his head. Scrambling against his sheets, he flails for her hospital bag while Lucrezia anxiously paces in front of the window.

“Are you hurting? Do you need anything? Should we leave now? Oh geez, of _course_  we should leave now! Can you take anything for the pain? I’m so sorry, I’m such a mess...”

He pauses to notice her plump figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the night sky and the bright Charlotte skyline.  “Hey,” he breathes, bag in hand.

She stills, and in that moment, with her cascading blonde curls and wide-eyed expression, she looks exactly like a painting of the Bella Madonna he used to stare at in his mother’s history books.

“This is it,” he continues. “These are the last moments of being _us._ Just the two of us...”

He’s not normally a sentimental person, so Lucrezia squints at his wistful tone and wonders whether the excitement has sent him into shock.  

“Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” he parrots back, mouth hanging open. “You’re the one who has a living thing trying to crawl out of your vagina right now!”

The trek to the car seems like the longest trip of Cesare’s life, and not even necessarily because they have to stop twice so Lucrezia can dry heave into a garbage can and a potted plant. With every step, he realises he’s closer and closer to a life of crippling responsibility, bound irrevocably to his beautiful sister and their soon-to-be-born son.

He can barely wait.


	28. Chapter 28

At 10:05 PM, after almost a day of hand squeezing and screaming and yelling and soul-crunching labor, John Michelangelo Borgia comes into the world with nary a whimper. The first person to hold him, after Lucrezia of course is Cesare, whose hands shake with anticipation and anxiety as the nurse places the baby, _his son,_ into his arms.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers, more to John than anyone else. “Your mama is so amazing and you’re so perfect. Things like this don’t just happen to our family.”

He looks around the crowded hospital room at all of them: Lucrezia, eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion, Vanozza beaming proudly while clutching Gioffre’s hand...even Rodrigo, lurking in the corner with a wistful smile on his face. All of them happy and peaceful and _together._     

 After a few moments of calm, John starts fussing in Cesare’s arms. Vanozza tsks and seamlessly transfers him over to his mother. “He’s just fussing because he’s hungry. Are you ready for your first feeding, my dear?”

Lucrezia nods sleepily. Reaching over, she squeezes her brother’s hand. “Thank you so much for being my stress ball today. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her eyes say so much more than she could ever express in words, even without the constraint of their entire family’s observation. Cesare nods, his eyes welling with tears.

Without fail, as soon as the glow of family camaraderie starts to fade, Rodrigo tugs on Cesare’s sleeve to pull him into the hall. “Cesare, a word.”

Cesare is aghast. “Right now? Are you serious?”

“This news can’t wait. Please, son. Also, come on.” He gestures to Lucrezia, who is fiddling with her top while John fusses. “This is obviously no place for us men, am I right?”

Cesare takes in his sister’s exhausted smile and Vanozza’s sharp, yet caring, protective stare and decides that he might as well get the conversation over with. He obliges his father and steps into the hall where Rodrigo is practically bouncing with excitement.

“Son. I have decided that baby John shall be placed with a family through the Association’s new adoption initiative, and I would like your endorsement.” He leans back against the wall and grins. “This would be a great reconciliation for us, Cesare. The Borgia men working together again.”

“Are you fucking INSANE? No! What? What sort of reconciliation would this cause? Stealing away Lucrezia’s baby?” Cesare shakes his head. “You’ve finally lost it.”

Rodrigo looks affronted and throws up his hands. “I don’t understand _why_ you are being so difficult. We both win in this situation and the family wins as well. Lucrezia carried the baby to term but can now return to her normal life as a teenaged schoolgirl and eventually go to university and get a career! This story has a happy ending for Lucrezia and the child and they both get to ‘have it all.’ Isn’t that what your liberal agenda is all about?”

“My liberal...? This isn’t about me, Father, this is about Lucrezia! What she wants.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants, Cesare, she’s a seventeen year old girl!”

Cesare recoils. “She is so much more than that! Have you even asked her how she feels about all of this?”

Rodrigo flies into his face, finger wagging menacingly. “I don’t have to _ask_ her anything! I am her FATHER, I am _still_ the head of this household, and I make the decisions! The baby is getting adopted and Lucrezia is going back to school! We will have NO MORE of this madness in our family!”

“Madness?” Cesare barks, slapping away his father’s hand. “You are the epitome of madness. You prance around the world preaching about faith and love and Christian values, then you come back home to steal away your daughter’s child and cheat on your wife with your secretary. Now I may not be a perfect man, but at least I’m aware of what’s actually good for this family instead of having my head shoved up my own ass!” Cesare chokes down his anger, attempting to reign it in and not cause a scene. “And this _household_ was broken as soon as you broke her trust. As soon as she left you.”

“Don’t try and tell me about what’s good for this _family_. We both know that since the day she was born, your one and only priority has been your _sister._ You would see our legacy burnt to the ground if it ensured Lucrezia’s happiness.”

“And so what if I would?” Cesare stands firm, aware that their outbursts are starting to attract curious bystanders. He lowers his voice and hisses. “So what if I would? Lucrezia is family, why doesn’t her happiness mean anything to you? Why doesn’t it count for anything?”

“Because she isn’t like us, son,” Rodrigo pleads. “You know this. She’s our daughter and a gem and joy, but her happiness results in no additional security for the family.”

“Right, I forgot. Only your happiness is relevant.”

“Cesare.” In that moment, Rodrigo looks old, even older than his fifty nine years. The lines around his eyes deepen and the grey in his hair looks even more pronounced. Cesare is struck by how suddenly fragile his father appears. “Cesare, the Association is on the verge of bankruptcy. Without Caterina’s support, our books are in absolute shambles. And with the Department of Justice poking around, things haven’t been good. Please, just do this for me. We are... _desperate_ for some good press right now. We need a success and I think this adoption thing could be it.”

“Right, like how that celibacy club could have been it, but instead Lucrezia was raped. How inconvenient for you and the Association.” Cesare shakes his head. “You know what? FUCK you and FUCK the Association. I hope both of you fade into obscurity where you both belong... I hope you go down in history as the guy who took over a powerful American institution and fucked it into the ground.”

“Ces...”

“No. We’re done here. Unless you come back here with a family lawyer or some shit like that, I’m not talking to you and I’m sure as hell not letting you anywhere near Lucrezia and our baby.”

Rodrigo’s face darkens. “ _Your_ baby?”

Cesare gulps. “This is _my_ family,” he says steadily. “You are not wanted here.”

Shaking his head, Rodrigo rolls his eyes. “You really think you can replace me?”

“God, I never wanted to replace you. I never wanted to _be_ you. I never wanted to work for the Association or go to seminary.” Cesare flexes his fingers in frustration. “All of this has just been a lie, a delusion that you have fed our family...that for some reason we’re destined for greatness.” He shrugs. “I just want a normal life.”

“You have no idea what I normal life is.” Rodrigo gives him one last look of loathing. “I had a normal life. Trust me, you won’t like it. And when you discover this for yourself, don’t come running back to daddy.”

Cesare watches his father walk away through the crowded hospital hallway and feels an amazing sense of calm wash over himself. Despite the threats and condescension, he finally feels... _empty_ towards his father. _Everything has been said._

He allows himself a small grin of relief.

***

“How’s she doing?”

Poking his head into his sister’s room, Cesare is greeted by his mother’s weary yet happy face. “She’s resting, both her and John. Finally asleep.”

He drinks in the sight of his love, her damp curls splayed across her pillow, her face sweaty but relaxed. _It’s amazing,_ he marvels, _how different love makes things._ Though he tried to never be truly misogynistic and superficial in his previous relationships, he had always preferred women who looked immaculate and put together to those who were a bit more natural, but this...

And the baby. Even though Lucrezia is adamant that he’s the father, Cesare will never be a _hundred_ percent convinced until there’s some sort of DNA evidence. The fact that John was born with only the normal amount of digits and limbs casts a shadow of doubt on his sister’s assertions. However, as he gazes at the tiny human curled in her arms, he realises that the biology doesn’t really matter when it comes to his feelings. John is his because John is Lucrezia’s...and Lucrezia is his.

_That’s all that matters._

“Cesare?”

“Yes mother?”

Vanozza stretches a bit in her chair. “Would you mind getting me a coffee, dear?”

“No, of course not.”

With a last look at the sleeping mother and child, Cesare slips out the door and heads to the vending machine down the hall. Despite the late hour the hospital is still bustling with doctors, nurses, and orderlies milling about pushing carts and carrying bedpans.

It is because of this crowd that Cesare doesn’t notice the man lurking in the hallway who announces his presence by gently clearing his throat.

“Ahem. Cesare Borgia.”

“Micheletto!” Cesare gasps, accidentally dropping his money in surprise. “I haven’t seen you in ages! Where’ve you been?”

He moves to shake his hand, hug him, do _something_ to express his appreciation, but Micheletto holds up a steady hand.

“No. Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He slowly lowers his hand, holding steady eye contact with Cesare. “Where I’ve been is irrelevant. I’ve come back, ironically, to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Why?” Money forgotten on the ground, Cesare urges the man to sit with him on the uncomfortable plastic benches lining the wall. Micheletto obliges, but his stiff posture indicates that he isn’t planning on staying long.

“Because that’s the way it has to be.” He sighs. “Congratulations, by the way. Be sure to give your sister my warmest regards.”

“You can tell her yourself. Micheletto,” Cesare breathes, “Why did you leave?”

The redhead nervously rubs the back of his neck. “The reason I left that night...well, there are several. The first and most pressing reason is that I know about your relationship with Lucrezia. I’ve known for a while now.”

Cesare’s heart starts pounding wildly in his chest. “What do you mean my _relationship?”_

Micheletto rolls his eyes. “Please. Don’t give me that. At least give me enough respect to not blatantly lie to my face.” He pulls a manila envelope from his coat pocket. “Once I heard the sex of the baby, I had enough information to construct these for you and your sister. They’re fake identities, well...they’re real enough if you choose to use them. And no.” He grimaces. “No one died in the creation of these. Though I’m not sure you’re one to criticize murder these days.”

Cesare shakes his head. “Hold on a minute.” He meets Micheletto’s eyes. “How did you find out about me and Lucrezia?”

The other man chuckles darkly. “You two think you’re so sneaky. Honestly, I knew the moment I saw you two together. You’re closer than normal siblings, closer than _close_ siblings, and whenever you look at her...” Micheletto trails off, lost in thought for a second.

“I look at her how?”

“Like she’s the only person in the world to you. Like you can’t stop staring at her, drinking her in. Like your entire being is thirsty for her presence.”

There’s silence for a moment. Cesare chews his lip.

“How do you know how I look at her? What it means?”

“Because.” Micheletto extends a shaking hand and grasps Cesare’s wrist. “Because that’s how I look at you.”

Silence again.

“Micheletto, I...”

“And that’s my second reason.” Micheletto yanks back his hand. “You have no further need of me, and I don’t wish to burden you with my presence. It was hard enough for you to think of illicit things for me to do when you were in grad school, I can’t imagine it will be any easier for you now that you’re a father .”

Cesare sits there, speechless, as Micheletto continues. “These identities are airtight, I made sure of that. Spent the better part of the last five and a half months filling any gaps. You’re legal to travel, work, buy a house, even adopt a pet if you want. Your son will be able to go to school without raising suspicion. There’s only one catch.” He fishes one of the passports out of the envelope, exposing the strange coat of arms on its cover. “You’ll have to be Canadian. I had the most contacts there.”

Cesare bursts out laughing, partially out of shock and also because of the guilty look on Micheletto’s face. “That’s it? You hand me one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me, and you apologize because of a minor detail? Micheletto Corella, I love you as the _truest_ brother I have ever had.”

“And I love you, Cesare Borgia, but not in the same way.” Leaning forward, he presses his trembling lips to Cesare’s cheek and then pulls back as if burnt. He jumps up from the seat and awkwardly deposits the envelope and its contents into Cesare’s lap. “I love you,” he says with finality. “I have loved you since the day I first set eyes on you at that disastrous dinner party, and I am blessed that you call me your brother. However, I also know that you were never meant to be mine.” He nods his head. “Goodbye Cesare.”

“Micheletto, please.” Cesare shakes his head and an errant tear falls onto the envelope. “You don’t have to leave.”

“But I do. I’m afraid that in these, the last moments of our relationship, I have to exercise my selfishness.” With one last look over his shoulder, Micheletto smiles a true smile and then disappears into the crowd.

***

Cesare returns to the hospital room with two black coffees and a Snickers bar. Lucrezia and John are still slumbering calmly and Vanozza is still watching over both of them with a serene smile on her face. Cesare passes her one of the coffees and takes the seat across from hers.

She sips her coffee. “Cesare?”

“Yes mother?”

Placing the coffee on the side table, she clasps her hands firmly on her lap. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need to you to be honest. I promise that I won’t judge you or freak out or do any of those awful mother things.”

Cesare takes another gulp of coffee. “Okay.”

“Is John yours?”

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest for the second time this night. He takes another steadying draw of coffee and ponders his answer.

“Mother, I...”

“I just want the truth, Cesare,” she responds, and in that moment Cesare feels like he’s five years old all over again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar or accused of something Juan put him up to.

“The truth is complicated,” he begins, rubbing at his face with his hand. “Honestly, the truth is...I don’t know. Lucrezia is pretty sure that I am, but I’m not sure yet.” He glances up at Vanozza who looks resigned. “However, I guess for all intents and purposes it doesn’t really matter.” He chuckles. “I guess that answers your _real_ question. The one you can’t even bring yourself to ask me.”

She nods. “I suppose it does.”

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Vanozza stoically sips her coffee every few seconds, staring at a patch of wall behind Cesare’s head while Cesare concentrates making sure his lungs keep working.

_Well, that wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?_ He closes his eyes and lets his face rest in his hands. Despite the reassurance given by one overtired section of his brain, Cesare is sure it won’t be that easy. This...this... _thing_ (he is hesitant to call it a mess) has become so much bigger than just his and Lucrezia’s affair. There’s a baby involved, and publicity, and people are starting to find out, and he’s honestly not sure how much more of it he can take. Micheletto’s envelope seems to burn in his jacket pocket, reminding him that there is a way out, but now that Vanozza knows, well, it’s not so easy any more.

Is it?

 “Mother, I...”

“Quiet Cesare,” Vanozza commands. “I need to collect my thoughts.” She drains the last of her coffee and sets the paper cup down on the side table. Letting out a heavy sigh, she smoothes down the wrinkles in her pants before speaking.

“You are so much like your father. You have been since the day you were born, and you will continue to be so until the day you die. And because of this, both of you compete with each other.” She smiles wistfully to herself. “Rodrigo was never content with the easy life. He could have been a pharmacist like his father, married a nice Christian girl...but no. He wanted to be a preacher and he married a prostitute and he aspired to lead one of the largest Protestant organizations in the world. And he succeeded in all of these things.”

“But at what cost?” Cesare asks, his voice breaking.

Vanozza smiles. “Exactly. I think you could go all the way, my dear. You have more intelligence and charisma than your father ever had. People flock around you and hang on your every word. You have such a shining path ahead of you, you could start your own organization, go into politics, probably even become the President one day. _I_ believe that. But what would you be giving up?”

Standing silently, she walks over to Cesare and gently pries his tear stained face out of his hands. “I know we agreed to never speak of this,” she says, “But I want you to remember your brother. Juan was not just _your_ brother, he was also your father’s son, and he was driven mad by all of this. He loved Rodrigo with every fiber of his being and it tore him apart. Now I know you and your father can handle the pressure; that’s who you are. Even Lucrezia and I...but you have a son now.”

Cesare stares at John who is preoccupied with burrowing himself even deeper into his slumbering mother’s chest. “Father wants to take him away.”

“I know.”

“Can he? Legally?”

“For now, yes.” Vanozza runs her fingers through his unruly hair, smoothing out the snarls and knots that have taken root. “Lucrezia could emancipate herself, but that takes time. Another option is...” Her hand stills. “I could divorce him and take full custody of Lucrezia and John. But that takes time as well, and I signed a pre-nup. We would have next to nothing.”

“Oh Mama.” Cesare shakes his head. “I would take care of all of you.”

“I know, my dear. But I’m getting older and going through a change like that is hard for us old folks. I’m turning fifty, remember?” She smiles and walks back over to her chair. “I trust you have another way out though? I saw a glimpse of your redheaded friend a few moments ago. To be honest, I think he let me see him.”

“Yeah, uh, he dropped off some papers for us. Passports, the like.”

Vanozza laughs. “He is the most amazing assistant I have ever seen, Cesare. I sure hope you pay him well.”

Cesare laughs as well. “Well I did, but he’s decided to seek employment elsewhere. Seems prudent considering Cesare Borgia may cease to exist in a few days.”

Vanozza’s face falls. “If that’s your choice.”

Nodding, Cesare threads his fingers through his hair. There’s still something nagging in the back of his mind, something that he has to say to clear the air.

“Mother I...” He sighs and starts again. “Mother, I want you to know that I never _did_ anything when we were young. With Lucrezia, I mean. I _never...touched_ her when I babysat or when we were playing together...”

 “Shhhhh, please stop talking.” Vanozza frantically waves both of her hands in front of her face. “I appreciate your honesty, really I do, but I need you to stop.” She grits her teeth and gives him a teary smile. “Looking at you now, I still see my son, the son I love. But when you start talking like that I can’t...I can’t...” She pauses. “I can’t reconcile these two very different roles that you embody. I know I said I wasn’t going to judge you, and I’m trying but...when I said I wasn’t going to judge, the... _idea_ was still only something very fleeting in my imagination, not yet real you have to understand. Now that it’s real, that I heard it from your lips...you see, I’m so happy that you’ve found the love of your life and I’m thrilled that Lucrezia has found hers but I...” Her mouth opens but no words come out. She closes her mouth and shakes her head.

There are hot tears running uncontrollably down Cesare’s cheeks, but Vanozza holds her ground. They sit in tense silence until she speaks again. “I love you dearly, but you can’t be both. I can’t think of you as both, it just doesn’t work.”

Cesare chokes back a quiet sob and nods. “I understand.”

“So stay or go, it’s up to you, but know that _if you stay_...this has to end.”

He nods his head again. “Of course. Does anyone else know?”

“Giulia does.” Vanozza leans her head back against the chair. “But you don’t have to worry about her. The fact that she came to me about it instead of Rodrigo shows that she was only looking out for you two. She’s a wonderful woman. In another life...we could have been friends.”

“So she came to tell you about us, but you didn’t do anything about it. Did you just not believe her?”

“Oh I believed her. I just needed to hear it from you.” She closes her eyes. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“I guess, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” Cesare wipes his face with his hands. “But we can stop.”

Vanozza chuckles. “It’s stupid, but I think it’s easier to talk to you about... _this_...than it would be to talk about it with Lucrezia. I understand you because you are so much like your father, and the rest of you is made up of parts of me that I’m okay with. But Lucrezia...there’s always been a part of her that’s unattainable, that just doesn’t make any sense. It’s the parts of your father and I that we both don’t understand about ourselves and it’s _scary.”_ She gestures towards Cesare. “When you talk about your...feelings, I understand, or at least I understand most of where you’re coming from. With Lucrezia I honestly don’t know why she feels certain things the way she does, or whether she actually _is_ feeling certain things. She’s an enigma. ”

“She’s just a person Mother. I really think the reason why you and Father don’t understand Lucrezia is because you put her up on a pedestal...and I can say that because _I did that too._ I _had_ to because she was my sister and if at any moment I thought she had the same feeling as me, well...”

Vanozza holds up a hand.

“Too much? Okay, I understand. But Lucrezia is so much like all of us, and I think the reason you _think_ she’s so different is because you wish she was different. On the outside we embrace this _ambition_ in our family when the reality is this ambition is what makes us self destruct. You don’t want this for Lucrezia, I understand, but you can’t deny that she is one of us.”

He holds up four fingers. “You had _four_ children, Mother. Four children, but only one can be on top, and we can’t stop until this wretched ambition if fulfilled. Now Juan is dead and Gioffre is left by himself because Father has driven the rest of us away and I feel like there’s no way our family can be repaired.”

“Cesare, sweetheart.” Vanozza shakes her head, tears in her eyes. “Family will always prevail. If we just dedicate ourselves to God and to each other, we’ll find a way to repair everything. There is a way. There _has_ to be a way.”

“No, there doesn’t.”

Vanozza and Cesare both jump at the sound of Lucrezia’s voice. Hoisting herself up in the hospital bed, she readjusts John in her arms and addresses her mother.

“Mama, would you please leave us alone for a moment?”

Vanozza nods, dumbstruck, and silently exits the room. Cesare immediately slides onto the bed and wraps a protective arm around Lucrezia’s shoulders. She sighs and rests her head against his.

“Cesare?”

“Yes, my sweet sister?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he breathes.

“Will you marry me?”

“Marry you?” He tilts her chin up so that their faces are nose to nose. “As you wish. We can run away together, change our names, live out our days in a small fishing village on the coast where no one will ever guess who we once were.”

“Can we really?” She sighs and rubs his nose with her own. Cesare is instantly transported back to a time when this was innocent, when they were...

_No. This was never truly innocent, and you know it._

“Yes, we can. Micheletto has given me, given _us_ the amazing gift of a new life. You can be a West Coast girl again if you want...it just has to be the west coast of Canada.”

“I suppose that would do, but what about John?” Lucrezia rubs the baby’s soft head and coos.

“John too. We can start all over if you want to.”

“I do.” She smiles and brushes a feather light kiss against Cesare’s lips.

He stares back into her eyes and responds, “I do.”

“Then it’s settled.” Lucrezia brushes a few stray tears from her eyes. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m able. We can fly away and never come back to this dreadful place again.”

“As you wish.” Cesare is about to call their mother into the room, but he turns back with a quizzical expression on his face. “Hey, why don’t you think there’s any way our family can be saved. Our _old_ family, I mean.” He catches himself with a smile.

She smiles. “I meant that...I always wanted us to leave. You and I... I’ve never cared about the pressure Father put us under, but I saw how it got to you and Juan, and how it’s going to get to Gioffre and I never wanted to risk getting caught up into that. Our family was never made for more than one child- one _heir,_ I should say. And I knew I could never leave without you. I guess I’m not really giving you a choice, but it also seems like you don’t really want one. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah...yeah it does. I guess now technically three of us four Borgias will be dead.” He lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s a really morbid thought.”

“And I guess that just leaves Gioffre.” Lucrezia sighs. “I hate to leave him alone, but I suppose that’s what Father always wanted. One lone Borgia at the top.”

Cesare laughs. “God, only one. What a relief.”

“Good riddance too. I was getting a bit sick of the name Lucrezia anyways.”

He laughs harder and stares back at her, drinking in the sight of her rosy cheeks and joyous smile as she starts nursing their newborn. _Their_ family. A strange new warm feeling spreads from his belly to his extremities as anticipation for the future blooms in his mind.

_Everything will be okay. This is my family. Forever._

 Sure there’s still a part of him, a part that sounds suspiciously like Juan, which keeps spitting vile things that churn his belly when he lets his guard down. Things like _pedophile_ and _sister fucker_ and _pervert_ and other dark nasty names that attempt to taint this beautiful thing he has with Lucrezia, but that voice keeps getting quieter and quieter.

Perhaps one day it will silence altogether, but for now...   

_I can live with this._

 

 

  

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. there it is :)  
> Added 01/04/15: For the past couple of months, I have been working and reworking an epilogue for this piece that was intended as a sort of “Chapter 29.” Today I’ve finally decided that it just doesn’t work for this story in its current form. I may post is later as a separate little one shot, but for now I think I feel better just leaving this story where it is. Sorry to anyone who may have been waiting for it 


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